INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 


Interest  is  the  greatest  word  in  Education. 

JACOB  GOULD  SCHURMAN. 


INTEREST  AND   EDUCATION 


THE  DOCTRINE  OF  INTEREST  AND 
ITS  CONCRETE  APPLICATION 


BY 


CHARLES  DEGARMO 

PROFESSOR  OF  THE  SCIENCE  AND  ART  OF  EDUCATION 
CORNELL  UNIVERSITY 


gotfc 
THE   MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LTD. 

1911 

All  rights  reserved 


COPTEIQHT,    1902, 

BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up,  electrotyped,  and  published  November,  1902.  Reprinted 
June,  1903;  January,  1904;  January,  1906  ;  January,  1908  ;  July, 
1911. 


Nortaootr 

J.  8.  Cuihing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  fc  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Masa.,  U.S.A. 


TO 

DOCTOR  JOHN  DEWEY 

CJji*  Holumt  is  &espertftills  fecrifrrti 


£600?; 


PREFACE 

THE  purpose  of  this  volume  is  to  make  a 
concrete  application  of  the  doctrine  of  interest 
to  the  matter  and  methods  of  education. 

So  long  as  mere  training  of  the  intelligence 
through  drill  upon  the  school  arts,  such  as 
reading,  spelling,  grammar,  and  arithmetic,  is 
regarded  as  the  chief  function  of  the  elemen- 
tary school,  there  is  small  need  for  any  specific 
doctrine  of  interest.  One  naturally  refrains 
from  being  tedious  in  instruction  when  one 
might  just  as  well  be  interesting,  precisely  for 
the  same  reason  that  one  does  not  willingly 
appear  unkempt  or  ill  dressed  in  society.  But 
to  sharpen  the  intellect,  all  we  have  to  do  is  to 
keep  it  alert  by  drilling  it  and  by  occupying  it 
with  the  solution  of  problems  of  steadily  in- 
creasing difficulty.  Such  work  does  not  neces- 
sitate any  glowing  enthusiasm;  it  needs  only 
steady  application.  It  is  not  strange,  therefore, 


Vlii  PREFACE 

that  to  those  who  conceive  the  sole  end  and 
aim  of  instruction  to  be  the  development  of 
the  intellect,  the  term  '  interest '  is  not  a  word 
to  conjure  with. 

Is  it  certain,  however,  that  instruction  should 
confine  itself  to  one  aspect  of  the  mind  ?  Be- 
sides intelligence  the  child  has  feelings  and 
volition.  His  feelings  involve  the  group  of 
mental  states  that  we  call  instinct,  impulse, 
emotion,  desire,  interest,  pleasure,  pain,  etc. 
Moreover,  his  volitions  are  intimately  connected 
with  his  feelings.  May  it  not  be  that  to  estab- 
lish desirable  permanent  mental  attitudes 
toward  men  and  their  institutions  and  toward 
Nature  and  her  living  creatures  is  one  of  the 
choicest  opportunities,  not  to  say  most  impera- 
tive duties,  of  the  school?  Yet  one's  view  of 
the  world,  one's  hospitality  or  hostility  respect- 
ing the  order  of  things,  is  far  more  a  matter 
of  feeling  than  of  intelligence.  Why  does  a 
church  desire  to  have  the  spiritual  nurture  of 
children  committed  to  its  care  ?  Surely  not 
to  drill  their  intellects,  but  rather  to  influence 
their  feelings,  to  fix  in  desirable  and  permanent 
form  their  attitude  toward  God  and  man  and 


PREFACE  ix 

the  church.  Why  do  schools  in  the  slums  of 
New  York  have  the  children  salute  the  flag 
and  sing  patriotic  songs  ?  It  is  to  secure  that 
love  of  country  which  marks  the  good  citizen. 
Is  it  not  as  important  in  every  other  field  of 
training  that  the  feelings  of  children  should  be 
tenderly  nourished  and  properly  directed,  that 
abiding  enthusiasms  should  be  awakened  in 
them,  that  their  attitude  toward  men  and  things 
should  not  only  be  lighted  by  intelligence,  but 
warmed  by  the  glow  of  feeling  ? 

When  feeling  as  well  as  intellect  is  to  be 
included  in  education,  it  is  necessary  that  in- 
struction should  involve  more  than  mental  drill ; 
it  must  include  also  such  bodies  of  ideas  as  the 
feelings  can  cling  to;  it  must  impart  knowl- 
edge capable  of  arousing  enthusiasm;  it  must 
reveal  nature  and  social  institutions  in  such 
manner  that  desirable  and  permanent  disposition 
toward  them  may  be  developed.  If  we  wait  for 
life  itself  to  form  the  disposition,  too  much  is 
left  to  accident.  Misfortune  or  mistake  may 
easily  embitter  and  harden  the  heart ;  whereas, 
had  proper  mental  attitudes  been  formed  dur- 
ing the  school  period,  the  individual  would  have 


X  PREFACE 

had  a  saner  outlook.  We  must  not  make  sweet- 
ness and  light  in  life  depend  upon  shrewdness 
or  good  fortune;  it  should  emanate  from  the 
inmost  depths  of  the  soul. 

Again,  mental  attitude  toward  the  world  has 
its  outcome  in  volition,  since  conduct  is  the 
legitimate  conclusion  of  desire  and  interest. 
This  brings  instruction  into  line  with  the  de- 
velopment of  the  whole  mind,  and  greatly 
extends  the  influence  of  the  school  in  the  for- 
mation of  character.  The  old-time  reliance 
upon  inhibition  of  undesirable  tendencies  in 
the  training  of  the  will  has  a  certain  warrant 
that  will  endure,  since  negation  and  prohibi- 
tion are  necessary  elements  in  the  proper  train- 
ing of  the  young.  But  the  affirmative,  or 
positive,  side  of  character-forming  is  still  more 
important;  for,  as  we  cultivate  disposition 
through  intelligence,  so  we  shape  character 
through  disposition. 

All  this  means  that  we  need  a  body  of  in- 
struction in  which  interest  and  volition  may 
take  root,  and  a  doctrine  of  interest  capable 
of  being  applied  to  the  subject  matter  of 
instruction. 


PREFACE  xi 

But  interest,  enthusiasm,  mental  attitude,  and 
volitional  habits  are  not  the  creation  of  a  day ; 
they  are  the  growth  of  years.  For  this  reason, 
methods  of  teaching  have  a  powerful  influence 
in  generating  and  developing  them.  The  doc- 
trine of  interest,  therefore,  finds  its  application 
in  the  field  of  methods  as  well  as  in  that  of 
knowledge. 

The  second,  third,  and  fourth  sections  of  this 
book  are  little  more  than  restatements  of  the 
doctrine  of  interest  advanced  by  Dr.  Dewey,  to 
whom  the  volume  is  inscribed.  Considerable 
portions  of  Sections  VI  and  VII  have  been 
printed,  the  former  in  The  School  and  Home 
Journal  and  the  latter  in  Crunton's  Magazine. 
Several  of  the  sections  on  Method  owe  much 
of  their  content  and  order  to  Baumeister's 
Handbuch.  The  author  has  received  many 
helpful  suggestions  from  Mr.  Thomas  D.  Bol- 
ger,  both  in  the  revision  of  manuscript  and  in 
the  correction  of  proofs. 


CONTENTS 


I.    How  INTEREST  ARISES  AMONG  PRIMITIVE 

MEN  ; 1 

II.    A  MORE  FUNDAMENTAL  CONCEPTION  OF 

INTEREST 11 

III.  THE  OBJECT  OF  INTEREST.        ...  20 

IV.  THE  PERSONAL  OR  SUBJECTIVE  SIDE  OF 

INTEREST 28 

V.    INTEREST  AND  ELECTIVE  STUDIES     .        .  44 

VI.    EDUCATION,  INTEREST,  AND  SURVIVAL      .  72 
VII.    INTEREST,    MOTOR    TRAINING,   AND    THE 

MODERN  CITY  CHILD       ....  85 
/III.    RELATION,  OF  INTEREST  TO  METHODS  OF 

TEACHING 116 

IX.    RELATION    OF     THE     TEACHER    TO    HIS 

METHODS 127' 

X.    PERSONAL  ELEMENTS  IN  INSTRUCTION, — 

SPEECH  —  TEMPO  —  TONE  —  TENSION     .  134 

XI.    CONCRETENESS  IN  INSTRUCTION         .        »  141 

XII.    ORAL  PRESENTATION 150 

XIII.  THE  ART  OF  EXPOSITION  ....  165 

XIV.  THE  ART  OF  QUESTIONING        .        •        .  179 
XV.    INTEREST  AND  THINKING    ....  205 

INDEX                                                                         ,  227 


INTEREST  AND   EDUCATION 


HOW   INTEREST    ARISES    AMONG   PRIMITIVE 

MEN 

THE  term  interest  is  a  word  in  common 
use,  and,  like  other  words  of  its  kind,  may 
be  variously  interpreted.  Primarily,  the  word 
would  seem  to  indicate  a  state  of  feeling,  yet 
it  is  often  extended  to  the  objects  toward 
which  the  feeling  extends ;  thus  a  man  may 
have  interest  in  his  business,  and  its  objects 
may  easily  become  his  business  interests.  It 
often  happens,  however,  that  one  is  not  inter- 
ested in  what  are  his  true  interests. 

What  does  the  word  signify  in  education? 
If  the  teacher  declares  that  the  student  must 
be  interested,  the  inquiry  at  once  arises,  In- 
terested in  what?  There  are  good  interests 
and  bad  interests.  Play  is  a  subject  of  un» 
questioned  interest  to  children,  so  that  perhaps 
to  gain  their  interest  in  their  studies  we 
B  1 


2  INTEREST  AND   EDUCATION 

should  turn  the  studies  into  play.  Children 
are  interested,  too,  in  attaining  pleasure  and 
avoiding  pain.  Shall  the  teacher,  therefore, 
attempt  to  convert  all  labor  into  pleasure? 
Many  teachers,  having  this  conception  of  in- 
terest, contrast  with  it  the  doctrine  of  effort. 
They  say  that  play  spoils  the  mind  for  the 
serious  business  of  life,  leaving  it  interested 
only  in  selfish  enjoyments,  not  at  all  in  duties. 
Others,  seeing  the  deadening  effects  that  come 
through  effort  without  interest,  likewise  con- 
demn the  doctrine  of  effort  as  a  guiding 
principle  of  school  activities.  The  word  in- 
terest, therefore,  appears  undetermined  when 
examined  from  the  standpoint  of  its  use  in 
everyday  life. 

It  may  perhaps  assist  us  to  free  the  mean- 
ing of  the  term  from  confusion,  if  we  make 
a  brief  study  of  the  feelings  of  a  race  still  in 
a  primitive  condition.  Let  us  suppose  we 
have  gone  with  Peary  on  one  of  his  polar  ex- 
peditions, and  that  we  are  trying  to  under- 
stand the  actions,  motives,  and  feelings  of  the 
Eskimo.  We  find  them  engaged  upon  the 
most  elementary  kinds  of  labor.  Their  prob- 


INTEREST   AMONG   PRIMITIVE   MEN  3 

lems  pertain  to  food,  clothing,  and  shelter  in 
their  simplest  forms.  These  people  are  little 
concerned  with  affairs  of  government,  religion, 
or  education.  They  have  no  police,  no  courts, 
no  armies,  no  professional  classes.  Municipal 
problems  do  not  puzzle  their  minds  or  vex 
their  patience.  Fire  departments  are  not 
needed,  for  there  is  nothing  to  burn.  Taxes 
are  not  levied,  for  there  is  no  public  service. 
Laws  are  unknown,  since  real  property  does 
not  exist.  There  is,  moreover,  little  personal 
property  that  could  be  stolen  and  there  is  no 
place  of  refuge  for  thieves.  Transportation 
is  hardly  a  problem  except  for  the  tribe  ;  mer- 
chants are  unnecessary,  since  there  is  nothing 
to  sell.  We  have  here,  in  brief,  a  people  for 
whom  art,  science,  government,  industrial  so- 
ciety, religion,  and  education  are  either  non- 
existent or  in  their  most  rudimentary  forms. 
Eliminating  thus  at  a  stroke  the  complexities 
incident  to  a  highly  developed  civilization,  we 
are  able  to  examine  directly  the  primal  sources 
of  interest  among  men. 

Of  the    three   objects   of    Eskimo    activity, 
that  of  shelter  is  the  least  in  importance,  for, 


4  INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 

lacking  loose  stones,  the  igloo,  or  one-roomed 
hut  in  which  the  family  dwells,  is  made  of 
blocks  of  snow  for  walls  and  dome,  with  per- 
haps a  block  of  ice  for  a  window.  The  Eskimo 
lover  need  not  hesitate  to  wed  because  he 
knows  not  where  to  house  the  bride.  He  can 
construct  his  igloo  as  easily  as  a  bird  can  build 
her  nest.  What  little  fire  the  people  use  is 
made  from  animal  fat,  a  by-product  of  the 
hunt.  The  two  prime  requisites  for  existence 
are,  therefore,  food,  which  is  almost  exclusively 
animal,  and  clothing,  which  is  quite  as  exclu- 
sively furs.  The  two  forms  of  activity  about 
which  everything  turns  in  an  Eskimo  com- 
munity are,  therefore,  hunting  or  fishing  by 
the  men,  and  the  making  of  fur  clothing  by 
the  women.  The  objects  of  life  are  concrete, 
immediate,  pressing.  Existence  itself  is  the 
stake  for  which  each  individual  in  such  a  com- 
munity works,  and  every  act  becomes  charged 
with  this  intense  interest.  Food  brings  satis- 
faction and  stores  up  energy  for  the  getting 
of  more  food.  Life  is  a  circle  about  whose 
boundary  is  written  hunger,  cold  (or  the  fear 
of  them),  energy,  effort,  food,  clothing,  satisfac- 


INTEREST  AMONG  PRIMITIVE  MEN  5 

tion,  more  energy,  and  so  on  as  long  as  the 
tribe  exists. 

It  should  not  be  assumed  that  because  every 
person  in  the  group  works  with  his  life  in  his 
hand,  so  to  speak,  pain  is  the  predominating 
note.  So  long  as  he  has  energy  left,  the  hunter 
will  enjoy  his  hunt,  will  glory  in  its  risks  and 
its  triumphs.  The  exercise  of  his  stored-up 
energy  alone  suffices  to  make  him  enjoy  his 
work;  and  when  to  this  source  of  pleasure  we 
add  prospective  enjoyment  of  its  fruits,  and 
perhaps  the  somewhat  aesthetic  enjoyment  aris- 
ing from  a  contemplation  of  goodly  stores  for 
the  future,  we  can  see  that  pleasure  is  not 
denied  to  man,  even  in  the  desolate  and  barren 
Northland.  It  is  only  when  energy  or  hope 
fails  that  labor  becomes  a  pain  to  the  Eskimo.1 

Like  their  sisters  of  more  favored  climes,  the 
Eskimo  women  have  the  less  strenuous  duties 
of  the  household.  Since  their  housekeeping  is 
exceedingly  simple,  most  of  their  time  can  be 
spent  in  the  tanning  of  skins,  and  their  manu- 
facture into  clothing.  The  skins  are  rendered 

1  Compare  Patten,  "The  Theory  of  Prosperity,"  Intro- 
duction, The  Macmillan  Co. 


U  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

flexible  and  durable  by  chewing.  One  can 
fancy  a  social  group  of  women,  each  with  a 
fold  of  a  skin  in  her  mouth,  busily  engaged, 
not  in  friendly  communication,  but  in  vigorous 
chewing,  a  useful  even  if  not  an  exhilarating 
utilization  of  muscular  power.  But  here  again, 
divesting  one's  self  of  any  prejudice  against 
such,  labor  caused  by  absence  of  need  and  op- 
portunity, one  may  conceive  that  even  this 
labor  is  not  a  pain  to  the  sturdy  belles  of  the 
North,  who  are  able  to  enjoy  raw  blubber  as 
our  maids  enjoy  sweetmeats.  Then,  again,  as 
in  the  case  of  the  man,  there  is  the  reward  of 
warm  sleeping-bag  or  sealskin  jacket,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  aesthetic  enjoyment  arising  from 
supple  skins  and  handsome  fit. 

All  the  minor  activities  of  the  hut  contribute 
to  the  main  purpose  of  getting  food  and  cloth- 
ing. The  men  and  boys  work  at  their  kayaks, 
their  spears,  their  nets,  their  arrows,  their  sleds 
and  thongs.  The  very  play  of  the  children 
with  the  puppies  contributes  to  their  future 
power  of  survival.  The  women  cut  their  thread 
from  the  skins  and  prepare  their  bone  needles. 
Now  and  then  a  trifle  of  art  appears  in  the 


INTEREST   AMONG   PRIMITIVE   MEN  7 

way  of  adornment  of  dress  or  weapon.  Not 
long  since  a  hunter  on  Cayuga  Lake  shot  a 
wild  goose  on  its  flight  to  the  South.  Im- 
bedded in  its  breast  there  stood  a  bone  arrow- 
head, ornamented  at  one  end  by  a  few  simple 
lines  —  mute  witness  to  an  art  impulse  in  some 
untutored  son  of  the  distant  North. 

It  is  like  this  with  all  primitive  peoples. 
Their  interests  cluster  about  a  few  requisites 
for  survival.  These  requisites  vary  with  the 
environment,  as  with  that  of  the  American  In- 
dians, or  of  the  denizens  of  tropical  forests ;  but 
whatever  they  are,  they  form  the  goal  of  all 
endeavor,  the  centre  of  all  interests.  Moreover, 
the  physical  and  mental  satisfactions  growing 
out  of  them  lend  to  labors  that  to  us  would 
be  repulsive,  a  joy  that  makes  even  such  life 
worth  living.  Much  as  we  may  deplore  a 
primitive  existence  for  men,  because  of  its 
many  deprivations,  it  would  be  an  error  to 
think  of  primitive  life  as  one  of  drudgery,  of 
hateful,  hopeless  toil.  Weariness,  pain,  indeed, 
comes  when  energy  is  exhausted,  but  the  idea 
of  drudgery  with  adults  belongs  to  a  later 
social  epoch. 


8  INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 

When  society  becomes  divided  into  castes, 
such  as  nobles,  warriors,  priests,  and  laborers, 
and  the  upper  classes  exploit  the  lower,  com- 
pelling the  workers  to  support  those  who  sit 
in  idleness,  or  labor  in  non-productive  ways, 
the  primitive  ends  of  labor  such  as  exist 
with  the  Eskimo  become  remote.  And  when 
the  laborer  gets  back  directly  only  a  moiety 
of  the  bread  he  produces,  and  when,  moreover, 
his  social  status  sinks  because  of  his  servile 
labor,  then  the  direct  connection  between  effort 
and  survival  is  broken.  The  laborer  becomes  a 
serf,  doing  the  will  of  another,  and  he  is  con- 
strained to  accept  contempt  as  a  sauce  to  com- 
pulsion. He  then  works  directly  to  ward  off 
evils,  and  only  indirectly  to  produce  benefits. 
As  will  be  more  fully  explained  in  a  subsequent 
section,  drudgery  arises  when  interest  in  ends 
desired  is  not  reflected  in  the  labor  that  is  being 
performed.  At.  times  drudgery  is  endured  by 
all  persons,  young  or  old;  yet  it  is  hardly  a 
prevailing  state,  except  with  those  who  endure 
some  form  of  slavery.  A  prisoner  of  war 
chained  to  a  seat  as  a  galley-slave,  or  a  criminal 
breaking  stone  upon  a  turnpike,  would  be  en- 


INTEREST   AMONG  PRIMITIVE  MEN  9 

gaged  in  what  would  seem  pure  drudgery,  even 
though  such  activity  might  be  preferred  to 
idleness  in  solitary  confinement.  Serfdom  of 
any  sort  produces  drudgery ;  an  eagle  caged 
longs  for  freedom,  even  though  a  king  be  his 
jailer.  The  serf's  life  is  spent  in  what  has 
been  termed  a  pain  economy,1  which  may  be 
defined  as  a  state  of  society  in  which  the  chief 
motive  to  action  is  the  avoidance  of  pain  or  of 
enemies,  and  in  which  men  work  only  indirectly 
for  the  requisites  for  survival.  The  feudal 
system  is  an  example  on  a  large  scale  of  a 
pain  economy.  The  laborer  became  the  serf 
of  the  feudal  lord,  ready  to  till  his  land,  defend 
his  castle,  or  be  his  man.  He  did  all  this  that 
he  might  have  food,  however  scanty  and  poor, 
and  shelter  and  clothing,  however  mean,  from 
the  man  who  owned  the  land  and  controlled 
the  agencies  of  production.  Under  such  cir- 
cumstances, the  idea  of  drudgery,  or  pain  from 
labor  whose  product  the  laborer  could  not  hope 
to  enjoy,  would  naturally  arise.  Besides  the 
meagreness  of  the  return  from  the  work,  the 
laborer  had  his  food-  seasoned  with  the  salt 
1  See  Patten,  "Development  of  English  Thought,"  p.  8. 


10  INTEREST   AND    EDUCATION 

of  social  degradation.  In  such  cases  interest 
is  necessarily  negative  in  character.  The  old 
joy  in  production,  found  where  men  work  for 
themselves,  gives  way  to  the  passive  endurance 
of  the  man  who  works  for  another  upon  com- 
pulsion. 

From  the  foregoing  analysis,  we  may  con- 
clude that  interest  arises  primarily  from  the 
activities  put  forth  by  men  to  secure  the  req- 
uisites for  their  physical  survival.  Consump- 
tion of  goods  produces  satisfaction  and  renews 
energy  for  further  production.  Pain  arises 
only  when  energy  fails,  or  when  that  which 
should  conduce  to  the  survival  of  one  individ- 
ual is  forcibly  diverted  to  another.  Drudgery 
as  a  permanent  status  of  a  people  is  the  off- 
spring of  serfdom. 


II 


A  MORE  FUNDAMENTAL  CONCEPTION  OF 
INTEREST 

IT  might  be  thought  that  the  presence  of 
objects  is  enough  to  arouse  interest  in  them. 
Yet  if  this  were  true,  it  is  difficult  to  see 
why  the  same  objects  should  arouse  interest 
in  some  and  aversion  in  others,  while  still 
others  may  remain  indifferent.  Evidently  the 
objects,  at  least  among  primitive  men,  would 
have  to  have  some^flkivec^ttlation  to  sur- 

^1       BjPi  ^mff 

vival.  It  did  ^H|Pre  The  American  Indian 
long  to  become  interested  in  firearms,  so  inti- 
mately were  these  seen  to  be  related  to 
his  survi^^,  whether  game  or  enemies  were 
consid«tfecL  But  even  to  this  day  the  uncivil- 
ized Indian  remains  indifferent  to  agricultural 
machinery. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  might  be  thought  that 
the  mind  through  its  own  activity  creates  ideals 
of  objects  and  then  becomes  interested  in  them. 
11 


12  INTEREST  AND   EDUCATION 

But  this  ignores  the  function  of  instinctive 
action  to  secure  survival,  as  in  the  case  of 
fear  or  hunger,  the  mating  instinct,  and  the 
like.  Each  of  these  suppositions  is  one-sided. 
A  more  adequate  conception  of  the  group  of 
psychical  states  known  as  impulse,  desire, 
interest,  volition,  is  that  the  self  is  seeking 
through  its  own  activity  to  express  or  realize 
itself.  At  first  this  effort  at  self-expression  is, 
as  we  have  seen,  merely  a  doing  of  the  things 
that  lead  to  physical  survival.  But  as  life 
broadens,  and  something  more  than  food  and 
clothing  becomes  necessary  for  those  forms  of 
survival  that  we  prize,  the  field  for  self-active 
expression  constantly  widens,  so  that,  with  the 
growth  of  new  ideals,  new  motives  to  action 
appear,  new  interests  absorb  the  mind.  In 
other  words,  the  interest  that  was  once  instinc- 
tive becomes  conscious,  and  is  directed  by 
intelligence. 

The  idea  of  self-expression  is  of  far-reaching 
significance,  both  for  the  development  of  the 
individual  mind,  and  for  the  development  of 
civilization  itself.  Our  instincts  and  impulses 
are  products  of  heredity.  Long  ages  of  struggle 


FUNDAMENTAL  CONCEPTION  OF  INTEREST    13 

for  existence  have  implanted  in  us  the  result- 
ants, so  to  speak,  of  the  qualities  of  mind  that 
have  in  the  past  been  necessary  for  survival. 
One  set  of  impulses  pertains  to  food,  another 
to  the  avoidance  of  dangers,  another  to  the 
perpetuation  of  the  race.  To  these  primitive 
impulses  leading  to  survival,  we  add  many 
others  from  the  higher  aspects  of  human  life, 
like  curiosity  to  know,  response  to  beauty, 
reverence  for  what  is  good  and  noble.  Many 
of  the  impulses  that  were  formerly  useful  in 
securing  survival  are  now  unimportant,  and 
may  properly  be  ignored  This  is  especially 
true  of  our  fears.  Dr.  G.  Stanley  Hall  has 
discovered  that  children  are  subject  to  some 
298  fears,  most  of  which  relate  to  bodily  pres- 
ervation. It  is  needless  to  say  that  under 
the  conditions  of  modern  civilization  most  of 
these  fears  are  groundless,  and  should  be  over- 
come. "  What  casts  out  fear  ?  "  asks  Dr.  Hall ; 
"love,  which  is  the  opposite.  Children  fear 
night,  trees,  thunder  and  lightning,  bugs  and 
snakes,  and  many  other  objects  of  nature. 
Teach  them  to  love  these  things,  that  is,  to 
feel  an  interest  in  them.  When  we  have  love 


14  INTEREST  AND   EDUCATION 

distributed  over  all  things  in  the  world  that 
are  worthy  of  being  loved,  then  we  have 
education." 

Professor  Davidson 1  conceives  education  to  be 
the  process  of  transforming  the  original  nature 
of  man  into  his  ideal  nature.  According  to 
this  view,  the  history  of  mankind  is  no  more 
than  the  record  of  different  races  in  this  process 
of  development.  In  his  original  nature,  a  man 
would,  perhaps,  not  differ  from  a  lion  in  the 
general  purpose  of  his  self-expression;  he 
would  be  fierce  in  his  aggression  when  seek- 
ing food  ;  he  would  be  playful  when  comfort- 
able, angry  when  crossed  in  his  natural  desires ; 
in  short,  he  would  be  merely  one  of  many  in  a 
struggle  for  existence  in  which  the  welfare  of 
the  one  might  mean  the  detriment  of  the 
others.  But  in  realizing  his  ideal  nature,  a 
man  transforms  this  original  selfish  struggle 
for  his  individual  welfare  into  cooperative  ac- 
tivities in  which  he  best  conserves  his  own 
welfare  by  taking  thought  for  that  of  others. 
In  short,  he  transfers  his  activities  from  an 

1  See  Introduction  to  "  The  Education  of  the  Greek 
People,"  D.  Appleton  &  Co. 


FUNDAMENTAL  CONCEPTION   OF  INTEREST      15 

animal  to  a  social  economy.  Even  primitive 
men,  like  the  Eskimo,  work  together  for  com- 
mon ends.  This  social  economy  in  its  highest 
expression  involves  all  that  we  know  by  the 
name  of  industrial  cooperation,  education,  ethics, 
altruism,  and  religion.  Whatever  the  individual 
does,  therefore,  he  does  to  realize  or  express 
V  some  aspect  of  himself.  This  mental  activity, 
taking  root  first  in  the  instincts  and  impulses 
of  the  physical  nature,  and  developing  into  con- 
scious desire  for  the  realization  of  certain  ends, 
is  at  bottom  nothing  but  the  effort  to  express 
self  in  accordance  with  the  varying  ideals  im- 
planted by  physical  nature  or  developed  by 
growing  insight  into  the  ideal  nature  of  the 
man. 

The  complexity  of  this  idea  of  self-expres- 
sion is  seen  when  we  consider  the  multiplicity 
of  the  ends  with  which  a  man  may  identify 
himself.  Every  man  has  many  selves:  he  is  a 
hierarchy  of  me's,  as  Professor  James l  calls  him. 
"  In  its  widest  possible  sense,"  he  says,  "  a  man's 
Me  is  the  sum  total  of  all  that  he  can  call  his, 
not  only  his  body  and  his  psychic  powers,  but 
1  See  "Psychology,  Briefer  Course,"  pp.  176-216. 


16  INTEREST   AND  EDUCATION 

iis  clothes  and  his  house,  his  wife  and  children, 
his  ancestors  and  friends,  his  reputation  and 
works,  his  lands  and  horses,  his  yacht  and  bank 
account.  All  these  things  give  him  the  same 
emotions.  If  they  wax  and  prosper,  he  feels 
triumphant;  if  they  dwindle  and  die,  he  feels 
cast  down,  not  necessarily  in  the  same  degree  for 
each  thing,  but  in  much  the  same  way  for  all." 
Each  man  is  at  once  a  material  me,  a  social 
me,  and  a  spiritual  me,  and  when  he  is  working 
for  any  phase  of  any  one  of  these,  we  may  say 
that  he  is  expressing  himself.  "When  these 
selves  come  into  competition,  as,  for  instance, 
when  a  man  must  decide  which  he  will  satisfy 
first,  his  own  appetite  or  that  of  his  children, 
we  may  still  say  that  he  is  expressing  himself, 
no  matter  which  aspect  of  himself  may  prevail, 
and  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  we  dis- 
criminate between  his  higher  and  his  lower  self. 
Professor  James  says  again,  with  respect  to 
the  rivalry  and  conflict  of  the  different  me's: 
"With  most  objects  of  desire,  physical  nature 
restricts  our  choice  to  but  one  of  the  many 
represented  goods,  and  even  so  it  is  here.  I 
am  often  confronted  by  the  necessity  of  stand- 


FUNDAMENTAL  CONCEPTION   OF  INTEREST      17 

ing  by  one  of  my  empirical  selves  and  relin- 
quishing the  rest.  Not  that  I  would  not,  if 
I  could,  be  both  handsome  and  fat,  and  well 
dressed,  and  a  great  athlete,  and  make  a  million 
a  year  ;  be  a  wit,  a  bon  vivant,  and  a  lady-killer, 
as  well  as  a  philosopher;  a  philanthropist, 
statesman,  warrior,  and  African  explorer,  as 
well  as  a  '  tone-poet '  and  saint.  But  the  thing 
is  simply  impossible.  The  millionnaire's  work 
would  run  counter  to  the  saint's ;  the  bon  vivant 
and  the  philanthropist  would  trip  each  other 
up;  the  philosopher  and  the  lady-killer  could 
not  well  keep  house  in  the  same  tenement 
of  clay.  Such  different  characters  may  con- 
ceivably at  the  outset  of  life  be  alike  possible 
to  man.  But  to  make  any  one  of  them 
actual,  the  rest  must  more  or  less  be  sup- 
pressed. So  the  seeker  of  his  truest,  strongest,  i/ 
deepest  self  must  review  the  list  carefully, 
and  pick  out  the  one  on  which  to  stake  his 
salvation.  All  other  selves  thereupon  become 
unreal,  but  the  fortunes  of  this  self  are  real. 
Its  failures  are  real  failures,  its  triumphs  real 
triumphs,  carrying  shame  and  gladness  with 
them." 


18  INTEREST   AND  EDUCATION 

It  will  be  seen  from  the  foregoing  that  the 
idea  of  self-expression  is  as  broad  as  the  con- 
ception of  self.  The  essential  point  is  that 
the  activity  in  which  we  are  interested  pro- 
ceeds from  within.  Its  source  is  internal ;  its 
expression  is  outgoing.  With  the  Eskimo 
the  cycle  —  energy,  goods,  consumption,  more 
energy  —  pertains  to  the  things  that  preserve 
his  physical  existence;  with  an  artist  the 
cycle  —  energy,  artistic  production,  aesthetic 
satisfaction,  renewed  energy  —  pertains  to  a 
higher  aspect  of  the  self,  which  may  emerge 
when  the  lower  is  provided  for.  Let  the 
artist  become  hungry  and  cold,  or  shabby  in 
dress,  however,  and  he  will  revert  to  the  cycle 
of  the  Eskimo,  even  though  he  hunts  a  cus- 
tomer rather  than  a  seal. 

We  may  say  in  general  that  interest  is 
a  feeling  that  accompanies  the  idea  of  self- 
expression.  It  has  its  origin  in  the  exhilara- 
tion, the  sense  of  power,  of  mastery,  that  goes 
with  every  internally  impelled  effort  to  realize  a 
condition  for  the  survival  of  the  self,  whether 
such  survival  touch  one  aspect  of  the  man  or 
another.  Interest  is  therefore  dynamic  in  char- 


FUNDAMENTAL  CONCEPTION  OF  INTEREST   19 

acter.  It  has  its  primary  root  in  inherited  im-  \ 
pulse.  We  have  impulses  to  eat,  to  run,  to 
hunt,  to  work,  to  talk,  to  play,  to  avoid 
dangers,  to  seek  pleasures.  But  these  impulses 
with  modern  men,  as  with  primitive  peoples, 
are  always  directed  toward  some  object,  in  the 
approach  of  which  we  find  the  realization  of 
some  aspect  of  our  mental  or  physical  being. 
There  is,  as  Dr.  Dewey  says,  no  break  between 
the  impulse  and  the  self ;  for  the  impulse  is 
nothing  more  than  an  involuntary,  and  per- 
haps almost  unconscious,  effort  at  self-expres- 
sion. 


Ill 

THE  OBJECT  OF  INTEREST 

IN  primitive  life  the  object  of  interest  stands 
in  close  relation  to  the  conditions  for  survival, 
and  so  standing  is  unmistakable.  But  it  is 
just  as  plain  that  in  our  own  daily  life  interest 
must  have  an  object  toward  which  the  self 
strives.  The  artist  is  interested  indeed  in  his 
own  artistic  result,  the  picture;  but  he  is 
likewise  interested  in  everything  that  con- 
tributes to  the  result,  —  his  brushes,  his  paints 
and  their  mixing,  his  canvas,  the  light  in  his 
study,  the  pose  of  his  model.  He  is,  in  short, 
interested  in  every  object  or  act  that  pertains 
to  his  self-realization  as  an  artist  in  the  par- 
ticular picture  upon  which  he  happens  to  be 
working.  It  is  not  art  in  general,  the  mere 
idea  of  art  as  an  abstraction,  that  chains  his 
attention,  but  the  actual  ends  which  he  sets 
before  himself,  and  the  means  which  he  con- 
ceives as  necessary  to  the  accomplishment  of 
20 


THE  OBJECT   OF  INTEREST  21 

these  ends.  These  are  all  definite  objects  to 
which  his  interest  attaches.  The  business  man 
is  not  interested  in  abstractions,  but  in  the 
quantity  and  quality  of  goods,  in  the  markets, 
the  supply,  the  demand,  how  his  goods  com- 
pare in  quality  and  price  with  those  of  his 
neighbors,  how  he  can  attract  trade  by  giving 
or  seeming  to  give  the  most  possible  for  a 
certain  price.  The  clergyman  is  interested  in 
his  congregation,  in  the  individual  souls  whose 
eternal  welfare  he  would  promote,  in  his 
church,  his  pulpit,  his  salary,  his  sermon.  This 
is  necessarily  true,  for  it  is  the  object  alone 
that  gives  meaning  to  the  activity.  The  self 
does  not  run  like  an  empty  mill,  producing 
nothing,  seeking  no  product;  but  it  is  the 
object  which  shows  to  consciousness  the  quality 
of  the  impulse.  It  gives  meaning  to  the  ac- 
tivity. Impulse  itself  is  said  to  be  blind;  it 
is  the  object  that  helps  to  make  it  intelligent. 
We  must  not  make  the  error  of  supposing  that 
the  object  comes  first,  thus  calling  the  activity 
into  being.  The  artist's  materials  would  not 
interest  the  physician.  He  would  regard  them 
as  so  much  rubbish,  obstacles,  perhaps,  to  self- 


22  INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 

expression.  Nor  would  a  case  of  surgical 
instruments,  as  such,  interest  the  artist.  As 
contemplated,  they  probably  would  be  regarded 
with  indifference.  If  by  mistake  they  were 
substituted  for  his  own  implements,  they  would 
be  regarded  as  obstacles  to  self-expression, 
hence  with  aversion.  His  only  interest  in  them 
would  be  to  remove  them.  But_the_thought 
of  self-expression  comes  first;  then  the  artist's 
materials  are  objects  of  interest  to  him  because 
aids  to  self-expression.  The  thought  of  re- 
lieving suffering  by  surgical  operations  is  the 
conception  the  surgeon  has  of  his  own  self- 
realization,  and  his  instruments  as  aids  to  such 
realization  become  at  once  objects  of  interest. 
A  toy  to  a  child  is  a  matter  of  indifference 
except  as  it  aids  him  to  realize  some  form  of 
self-expression  in  his  play.  It  then  becomes 
a  means  to  enable  him  to  realize  himself  in 
play,  and  as  such,  is  an  object  of  interest. 

Thus  far  the  situations  that  have  been  in- 
stanced have  all  been  direct,  or  immediate,  in 
character.  In  the  case  of  the  Eskimo  spearing 
a  walrus,  or  the  artist  moulding  a  statue,  the 
object  pursued  has  been  one  of  intimate,  con- 


THE  OBJECT  OF  INTEREST  23 

crete  self-expression  in  the  struggle  for  ex- 
istence, —  in  the  one  case  physical,  in  the  other 
artistic.  But  in  the  school  the  object  sought 
often  seems  wofully  remote  from  any  analogous 
self-expression  on  the  part  of  the  pupil.  The 
learning  of  a  grammar  lesson  or  the  translation 
of  a  Latin  sentence  may  seem  as  remote  from 
real  life  as  self-denial  now  is  from  heaven  here- 
after. It  may  not  seem  to  the  pupil  that  he 
is  doing  this  work  for  himself.  He  may  feel 
no  inner  need,  no  impulse  to  self-expression, 
that  urges  him  on  to  accomplishment.  The 
fact  that  the  school  period  has  not  been 
regarded  as  a  part  of  life,  but  rather  as 
a  preparation  for  subsequent  life,  has  led  to 
the  view  that  study  performs  a  purely  instru- 
mental function,  that  it  simply  prepares  the 
pupil  to  do  something  in  the  future. 

This  gap  ^between  the  impulse  to  self- 
expression  and  the  realization  of  it  in  any 
way  the  pupil  can  understand,  has,  in  con- 
junction with  some  of  our  inherited  notions 
about  the  effort  essential  to  work,  led  to  two 
antithetic  theories  of  the  means  to  be  adopted 
to  get  the  work  done.  One  theory,  that  of 


24  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

.effort,  maintains  that  the  sheer  dead  lift  of 
will  is  the  only  sure  means  of  getting  the  child 
to  the  goal,  and  the  only  way  whereby  his  mind 
can  be  trained  to  do  the  hard  things  that  are 
sure  to  confront  him  in  later  life.  The  other 
theory,  that  of  pleasurable  excitation,  holds 
that  it  is  only  by  making  the  object  interesting 
that  the  mind  will  work  freely  and  without 
constraint.  The  advocate  of  effort  would  drive 
his  pupil  to  the  object  to  be  accomplished,* 
that  of  pleasure  would  allure  him  to  it.  The 
one  would  compel,  the  other  coax.  Dr.  Dewey 
has  portrayed  at  length  the  arguments  pro 
and  con  for  these  two  theories  under  the  guise 
of  an  educational  lawsuit,  in  his  monograph 
on  "  Interest  as  related  to  Will." 1 

There  is  a  common  error  underlying  the 
two  antithetic  doctrines  that  effort  on  the  one 
hand  and  mere  pleasure  on  the  other  should 
be  the  motives  to  action.  The  error  lies  in 
ignoring  the  conception  that  all  effort  for  the 
realization  of  an  end  is  an  effort  at  self- 
expression,  and  in  assuming  that  it  is  an 
effort  to  attain  some  object  quite  external  to 
1  University  of  Chicago  Press. 


THE   OBJECT   OF  INTEREST  25 

the  self.  It  is  evident  that,  if  the  object  is 
thus  external  to  the  self,  it  must  be  made 
interesting  if  pleasure  is  to  be  an  exciting 
cause  of  activity,  or  effort  must  be  expended 
if  the  object  is  to  be  attained  without  such 
pleasurable  excitation.  As  Dr.  Dewey  points 
out,  when  either  effort  alone  or  pleasure  alone^ 
is  made  the  motive  to  action,  there  is  neces- 
sarily a  divided  attention  in  the  pupil.  In 
the  case  of  effort,  there  is  mechanical  attention 
to  the  matter  in  hand  sufficient  to  satisfy  the 
teacher,  or  perhaps  to  attain  the  end;  but 
there  is  accompanying  this  mechanical  attention 
a  mind-wandering  in  accordance  with  the  sub- 
jective interests  that  may  be  present  at  the 
time.  The  boy  may  be  apparently  attending  to 
his  lesson  either  in  recitation  or  in  study,  and 
at  the  same  time  have  a  running  consciousness 
of  ball  games,  hunting  or  fishing,  or  gathering 
nuts  or  making  windmills  or  water-wheels, 
or  whatever  form  of  amusement  may  happen 
to  be  present  to  his  thoughts.  His  mind  thus 
alternates  between  his  pleasures  and  the  me- 
chanical activity  aroused  by  the  teacher's 
demands.  On  the  other  hand,  if  an  object 


26  INTEREST   AND  EDUCATION 

is  external  to  the  self-expression  of  the  child, 
another  teacher  may  seek  to  secure  his  atten- 
tion to  it  by  making  the  object  pleasurable. 
The  object  has  to  be  made  interesting,  but 
jthe  attention  aroused  is  not  due  to  true  iuter- 
lest.  It  is  due  rather  to  a  transient  pleasurable 
excitement.  Baldwin  says  that,  whereas  inter- 
ests are  stimuli  to  voluntary  attention,  t  affects ' 
are  stimuli  to  involuntary  attention.  When 
objects  have  to  be  made  interesting,  it  is  evi- 
dent that  the  involuntary  attention  is  appealed 
to.  The  activity  is  not  truly  one  of  self- 
expression,  though  it  may  be  very  intense  for 
the  time  being.  As  soon  as  the  excitation 
ceases,  attention  and  interest  flag,  so  that  there 
is  a  sort  of  oscillation  between  excitement 
and  apathy.  In  the  case  of  effort,  the  divided 
attention  is  simultaneous;  in  the  other,  it  is  suc- 
cessive, being  an  alternation  of  alert  attention 
and  indifference.  The  conception  of  work- 
ing to  attain  ends  as  a  manifestation  of  self- 
expression  completely  solves  these  difficulties, 
whether  they  are  of  a  merely  practical  or  of  a 
psychological  nature.  If  the  object  is  external 
to  the  self,  then  the  mind  may,  like  a  top,  be 


THE  OBJECT   OF  INTEREST  27 

whipped  into  activity  by  pleasurable  excitement 
or  by  painful  anticipation.  In  either  case,  we 
have  a  serious  split  in  the  activity  of  the  mind 
itself.  But  if  the  attainment  of  an  end  is  truly 
an  expression  of  self,  even  of  the  self  tempo- 
rarily or  unworthily  conceived,  then  we  can 
find  in  interest  a  complete  reconciliation  of  the 
antithesis  between  effort  and  allurement.  For 
a  genuine  interest  is  nothing  but  the  feeling 
that  accompanies  this  identification  of  the  self 
through  action  with  some  object  or  idea.  In 
this  case,  effort  becomes  the  result  of  interest, 
and  interest  becomes  the  consciousness  of  the 
value  of  the  end  and  of  the  means  necessary 
to  reach  it. 


IV 


THE  PERSONAL  OR  SUBJECTIVE  SIDE  OF 
INTEREST^ 

1.  Interest  a  Feeling  of  Worth.  —  Interest,  it 
has  already  been  said,  is  a  feeling.  This,  like 
all  feelings,  is  not  to  be  denned.  It  is  only  to 
be  felt.  More  precisely,  it  is  a  feeling  of  the 
•worth,  to  the  self,  of  an  end  to  be  attained. 
The  subjective  side  of  the  artist's  interest  is 
the  constant  feeling  that  self-expression  in  the 
form  of  art  is  of  value  to  him.  Perhaps  it  is 
regarded  as  the  greatest  thing  in  the  world. 
All  professional  interest  on  its  subjective  side 
involves  this  same  feeling  of  worth.  To 
mend  the  broken  law  is  the  greatest  thing  in 
the  world  to  the  lawyer;  to  mend  the  broken 
body  is  the  most  worthy  form  of  self-expres- 
sion to  the  physician ;  to  heal  the  broken  and 
contrite  heart,  to  mend  the  broken  moral  law, 

1  This  section  and,  in  a  measure,  the  two  preceding  sec- 
tions are  a  restatement  of  Dr.  Dewey's  theory  of  interest. 
(See  his  "  Interest  as  related  to  Will.") 


SUBJECTIVE   SIDE  OF   INTEREST  29 

to  save  the  souls  of  the  perishing,  is  the 
most  worthy  thing  of  all  to  the  minister.  To 
the  politician,  interest  in  politics  is  a  sense 
of  worth  to  the  self  arising  from  party  ser- 
vice. To  the  statesman,  to  serve  one's  coun- 
try is  the  noblest  form  of  self-expression.  To 
the  soldier,  self-expression  in  the  form  of 
courageous  deeds  may  go  to  the  extent  of 
self -extinction.  The  sense  of  worth  in  this 
form  of  self-expression  may  exceed  the  worth 
even  of  life  itself. 

2.  Immediate  vs.  mediate  interest.  —  We  need 
at  this  point  to  make  a  further  subdivision  of 
the  subject  according  as  the  ends  and  means 
of  expression  coincide  in  time  or  not.  In  all 
cases  of  immediate  interest,  there  is  no  break 
between  the  end  of  self-expression  and  the 
act  of  self-expression,  for  the  act  is  the  end 
and  the  end  is  the  act.  The  best  illustration 
of  this  is  perhaps  play.  Every  child  has  a 
natural  impulse  to  realize  itself  in  this  form  of 
activity.  So  universal  is  the  instinct  of  play, 
that  it  is  common  to  the  young  of  almost 
all  animals,  as  well  as  to  children.  There  is 
no  thought  here  of  effort,  and  no  thought  of 


30  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

pleasure,  for  the  activity  is  the  end  in  itself. 
When  a  game  is  over,  the  end  is  accom- 
plished, the  self  has  been  expressed,  the  pleas- 
ure has  been  experienced.  Although  children 
put  forth  great  effort  in  their  play  and  expe- 
rience great  pleasure  in  it,  yet  we  can  easily 
see  that  the  end  and  the  means  coincide  in 
time;  that  they  fuse  the  one  into  the  other, 
so  that  it  is  only  by  a  logical  analysis  that 
we  can  distinguish  the  end  from  the  means. 
There  are  forms,  moreover,  of  sesthetic  enjoy- 
ment in  which  the  same  thing  is  true.  To  an 
observer,  the  end  of  the  music  is  the  hearing 
of  the  music.  The  purpose  of  a  picture  is 
the  enjoyment  of  its  contemplation.  It  is 
conceivable,  of  course,  that  one  might  listen 
to  music  for  the  sake  of  imitating  it,  that  one 
might  study  a  picture  in  order  to  copy  it; 
but  in  all  cases  of  contemplative  enjoyment 
of  art,  the  end  and  the  means  likewise  fuse. 
They  coincide  in  time  and  are  only  to  be 
distinguished  in  thought. 

In  most  cases,  especially  in  educational 
activities,  the  end  and  the  means  do  not  coin- 
cide in  time.  The  realizing  of  self  in  a  given 


SUBJECTIVE   SIDE  OF  INTEREST  31 

end,  as  in  the  possession  of  material  objects 
or  the  acquisition  of  knowledge,  is  usually  an 
extended  process.  In  the  case  of  the  sculptor, 
the  self  must  be  mediated  with  the  end  to  be 
attained  by  a  series  of  exercises,  before  the 
perfect  statue  can  be  produced.  There  must 
be  a  long  series  of  activities  intervening  be- 
tween the  idea  of  the  end  and  its  realization. 
The  figure  must  be  modelled  in  clay  and  then 
chiselled  out  from  the  marble.  So,  in  the 
school,  the  task  set  before  the  pupil  can  be 
accomplished  only  by  a  series  of  intervening 
activities.  It  is  at  this  point  that  the  one- 
sided theories  about  interest  and  effort  appear. 
One  party,  thinking  only  of  the  emotional 
side,  identifies  pleasure  with  interest;  the 
other,  thinking  only  of  the  intellectual  phase, 
identifies  volition  with  effort.  It  is  evident, 
moreover,  that  education  is  chiefly  concerned 
with  the  doctrine  of  mediate  interests.  When- 
ever the  object  to  be  attained  is  a  reality 
only  as  an  idea,  the  end  and  the  means 
necessarily  fall  apart.  It  is  at  this  point  that 
we  come  to  the  distinction  between  drudgery 
and  work. 


32        INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 

3.  Drudgery  and  Work.  —  The  mind  must 
have  some  sort  of  interest  in  the  thought  of 
realizing  itself,  or  expressing  itself  by  attain- 
ing a  certain  end,  whether  that  end  pertain  to 
physical  well-being  or  aesthetic  satisfaction  or 
intellectual  attainment.  But  the  object  to  be 
attained  being  only  an  idea,  it  is  evident  that 
self-expression  requires  a  series  of  intervening 
activities.  If  the  interest  in  the  end  alone 
remains  and  no  interest  attaches  to  the  means, 
then  we  have  drudgery.  If,  however,  the 
I  interest  attaching  to  the  end  is  present  also  in 
the  means  for  reaching  the  end,  then  we  have 
work.  It  is  conceivable  that  the  workman  may 
have  great  interest  in  the  dollar  he  is  to 
receive  for  his  day's  wages,  and  yet  be  indif- 
ferent to,  or  detest,  the  labor  itself,  which  is 
the  means  for  reaching  the  dollar.  In  this 
case  we  would  have  drudgery.  Many  forms 
of  routine  work  conform  to  this  idea.  The 
housewife  may  grow  sick  of  the  drudgery  of 
washing  dishes,  of  sweeping  floors,  of  mending 
garments;  for,  though  the  end  to  be  attained 
is  seen  to  be  a  necessary  and  desirable  one, 
the  interest  naturally  attaching  to  the  end 


SUBJECTIVE   SIDE   OF  INTEREST  33 

to  be  attained  is  often  not  attached  to  the 
means  for  attaining  it.  A  workman  in  a 
modern  factory  may  spend  eight  hours  a  day, 
year  in,  year  out,  in  turning  a  piece  of  iron 
into  a  certain  shape.  Though  he  may  have 
an  interest  in  the  perfect  bicycle  which  is  to 
be  produced  or  in  winning  his  daily  bread, 
it  is  conceivable  that  he  should  have  no  inter- 
est in  this  dull  routine  of  labor,  which  would 
then  partake  of  the  nature  of  pure  drudgery. 
In  the  same  way,  a  pupil  may  have  a  direct 
or  an  indirect  interest  in  learning  a  grammar 
lesson,  or  solving  a  problem  in  arithmetic,  or 
performing  any  other  one  of  the  school  duties, 
yet  have  no  interest  at  all  in  the  means  for 
accomplishing  this  phase  of  self-expression. 
School  work  to  such  a  one  is  drudgery. 

If,  however,  the  interest  naturally  attaching 
to  the  end  of  self-expression  can  be  carried 
over  into  the  means  for  reaching  this  end,  we 
have  work,  not  drudgery.  In  play,  as  we 
saw,  the  end  and  the  means  coincide;  but  in 
work,  they  do  not.  Work  may  be  as  enjoy- 
able as  play,  but  the  quality  of  the  enjoyment 
in  the  work  is  different  from  that  in  play, 


34  INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 

because  of  this  separation  of  means  and  end, 
A  workman  in  a  modern  factory,  though  he 
labors  faithfully  and  well  to  earn  his  money 
and  yet  has  no  interest  in  his  daily  activity, 
for  whom,  in  short,  drudgery  takes  the  place 
of  true  work,  may,  perhaps,  be  called  an 
artisan,  though  the  word  does  not  necessarily 
mean  one  who  substitutes  drudgery  for  work. 
Another,  to  whom  the  interest  in  the  end 
attaches  equally  to  the  means  for  reaching 
the  end,  may  be  called  an  artist.  He  speaks 
of  the  joy  of  work  rather  than  of  its  pain. 
In  the  case  of  the  sculptor,  for  example,  how 
keen  an  interest  attaches  to  every  stroke  of 
the  mallet;  with  what  passion  does  he  de- 
velop his  idea,  forgetting  even  food  and 
friends  in  the  intensity  of  his  interest  in  his 
work!  It  is  said  of  Edison,  the  electrician, 
that  he  becomes  so  interested  in  his  problems 
that  he  will  spend  hours  and  even  days  in 
total  isolation  from  others,  denying  himself 
food  and  companionship,  so  intense  is  the 
interest  with  which  he  pursues  his  ideals. 
No  drudge  can  do  that.  The  teacher,  too, 
should  be  an  artist  rather  than  a  drudge;  so 


SUBJECTIVE   SIDE  OF  INTEREST  35 

that  every  new  day,  every  new  situation,  will 
be  a  new  stimulus  to  renewed  effort.  To  be 
a  true  artist,  however,  is  not  for  every  teacher, 
not  for  any  teacher  at  all  times.  To  enable 
the  pupil  to  approximate  the  artistic  attitude 
toward  his  school  work,  even  for  brief  inter- 
mittent periods,  is  an  accomplishment  of  the 
few;  yet  it  is  an  end  for  which  we  must  all 
strive. 

The  idea  that  drudgery  is  an  inevitable 
concomitant  of  school  work  receives  encour- 
agement from  two  sources  already  mentioned; 
namely,  that  of  servile  labor,  and  that  of 
regarding  the  school  solely  as  a  place  of  prepa- 
ratifn  for  post-academic  activity.  The  labor 
of  the  serf  contributes  not  directly,  but  only 
indirectly  and  partially,  to  his  survival.  It 
expresses,  not  himself,  but  another.  To  this 
separation  of  self  from  activity  there  comes 
an  added  indignity,  in  that  his  social  status  is 
degraded  just  because  he  serves  another  from 
compulsion.  The  idea  of  slavish  drudgery 
once  introduced,  it  is  not  unnatural  that  the 
mass  of  society  should  look  upon  it  as  a  nec- 
essary consequence  of  living  in  a  vale  of 


36  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

tears,  and  that  many  should  think  their  chil- 
dren uneducated  unless  they  are  made  to 
wear  this  badge  of  servitude.  Again,  since 
the  school  is  not  engaged  in  productive  labor 
having  an  immediate  relation  to  the  pressing 
conditions  of  survival,  it  is  easy  to  fall  into 
the  habit  of  thinking  that  all  school  activity 
must  of  necessity  be  merely  preparatory  to 
real  activity  at  a  subsequent  period.  This 
being  the  case,  one  may  take  the  position 
most  native  to  his  type  of  mind,  either  that 
the  pupil  must  drudge  for  his  results,  or  that 
he  may  be  allowed  to  reach  them  through 
external  .attractions.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  how- 
ever, neither  of  these  positions  is  tenable^ 

4.  Desire  and  Effort.  —  Desire  and  effort 
are  correlatives  in  properly  mediated  interest. 
That  is,  an  analysis  of  interest  proper  will 
disclose  both  of  these  elements.  In  play, 
where  the  activity  is  the  end,  there  eanjbe 
no  question  of  desire  or  effort.  For,  though 
one  may  desire  to  play,  one  does  not  think 
of  this  desire  when  actually  playing.  Play 
as  a  distant  end  is  to  be  distinguished  from 
play  as  an  activity  now  proceeding.  Further- 


SUBJECTIVE   SIDE  OF  INTEREST  37 

more,  although  play  often  calls  forth  the 
greatest  physical  exertion,  the  player  does  not 
put  forth  conscious  effort.  Whenever  so-called 
play  becomes  an  object  of  effort,  i^  loses  its 
proper  character,  since  it  becomes  a  task. 

Effort  is  really  the  process  of  trying  to 
realize  an  end  through  work.  Desire  is  the 
tendency  of  the  energies  to  push  on  to  ac- 
complish the  object  of  effort.  Effort,  there- 
fore, is  really  an  evidence  of  desire.  These 
two  things,  ejfort  and  desire,  are  consequently 
only  two  aspects  of  one  thing,  two  phases  of 
^elf^expression,  when  the  end  to  be  attained 
and  the  means  for  reaching  it  are  -  separate. 
These  two  ideas  are  so  important  in  the 
doctrine  of  interest  that  we  shall  need  to 
examine  them  more  in  detail. 

5.  Nature  of  Desire.  —  We  often  speak  of 
blind  appetite,  or  passion.  By  this  we  mean 
a  form  of  desire  not  controlled  by  an  intelli- 
gent aim.  Whenever  this  form  of  activity 
gains  control  of  the  mind,  there  is  wasted 
energy.  In  the  life  economy  of  the  animal 
kingdom,  the  long  process  of  evolution  has 
directed  these  blind  appetites  or  passions 


38  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

toward  the  well-being  of  the  animal.  If  a 
deer  or  a  rabbit  is  timid,  then  timidity  has 
become  a  condition  of  existence.  One  is 
often  amazed  at  the  fierce  anger  shown 
by  a  tiger  or  a  lion  in  overcoming  its  prey. 
Yet,  unquestionably,  this  anger  is  one  of  the 
factors  which  determines  the  existence  of  the 
animal.  Without  the  anger  it  might  be  that 
courage  would  be  lacking  to  attack  formi- 
dable beasts  of  prey;  that,  should  the  easier 
means  of  procuring  subsistence  become  ex- 
hausted, the  animal  would  perish  from  hunger. 
Evolution  in  the  animal  world  has  brought 
about,  therefore,  a  somewhat  permanent  har- 
mony between  the  appetites  and  passions  o£ 
the  beasts  and  the  survival  of  these  creatures 
in  the  struggle  for  existence.  With  children, 
however,  we  can  hardly  claim  that  there  is 
such  a  harmony  due  to  the  process  of  evolu- 
tion, for  man  has  so  long  been  a  social  being 
that  the  primitive  evolutionary  forces  have 
practically  ceased  to  act.  Anger  and  rage, 
or  timidity  and  fear,  therefore,  to  a  child, 
usually  mean,  not  the  conditions  of  existence, 
but  the  waste  of  energy.  It  is  so  long  since 


SUBJECTIVE   SIDE  OF   INTEREST  39 

the  race  in  its  normal  life  has  had  to  fear 
external  dangers,  that  the  function  of  fear  has 
ceased  to  be  a  condition  for  existence.  There 
is  all  the  more  reason,  therefore,  why  the 
desires  of  the  human  being  should  be  ration- 
alized by  being  directed  to  proper  ends  and 
mediated  by  interest. 

The  nature  of  emotion,  of  which  desire  is  a 
phase,  may  be  denned  as  the  tension  arising 
from  the  difficulty  of  effecting  an  adjustment 
between  means  and  end.  Its  function  is  to  stir 
up  the  efforts  of  the  individual.  If  the  struggle 
for  wealth  or  place  or  honor  arouses  no  emotion 
in  a  man,  it  is  probable  that  his  desire  will 
remain  mere  wish.  With  repetition  the  emo- 
tional tension  is  likely  to  be  transformed  into 
habitual  action.  The  constant  repetition  of 
those  activities  which  mediate  between  the  self 
and  the  end  it  desires  to  accomplish  may  cause 
the  desires  to  lose  their  emotional  tone..  In 
this  case,  habit  takes  the  place  of  conscious 
effort. 

The  normal  outcome  is  a  proper  balance 
between  excitation  and  ideal.  Where  this  bal- 
ance is  lacking,  we  have  either  weakness  or 


40  INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 

excess  in  action.  The  man  who  has  become 
blas£  is  one  who  has  ceased  to  pursue  the  ends 
of  life  with  emotional  vigor.  The  world  has 
become  a  squeezed  orange  to  him,  nothing  is 
worth  while.  His  emotions  are  washed  out,  his 
interests  feeble  and  fleeting,  his  actions  mechan- 
ical and  lifeless.  On  the  other  hand,  where  the 
excitation  is  powerful,  where  the  end  appears  to 
the  mind  with  tumultuous  vigor,  where  there 
is  no  proper  mediation,  no  calming  influence 
of  persistent  interests,  there  we  are  likely  to 
have  what  Professor  James  calls  "the  explo- 
sive will."1 

What  has  been  said  of  the  nature  of  emotion 
holds  likewise  of  desire,  which  is  only  a  phase 
of  the  emotional  tension,  since,  in  addition  to 
the  emotion,  it  includes  a  clear  consciousness  of 
the  end  to  be  attained. 

6.  Selfish  Indulgence.  — In  selfish  indulgence, 
desire  is  made  an  end  in  itself.  It  loses  its 
function  as  a  stage  in  the  mediation  between 
the  self  as  it  is  and  the  self  as  it  would  be  in 
some  future  stage  of  expression.  The  chronic 
novel  reader  is  one  in  whom  the  normal  desire, 
1  "Psychology,  Briefer  Course,"  p.  437. 


SUBJECTIVE  SIDE  OF  INTEREST  41 

for  information  or  the  rational  desire  for  self- 
development  has  degenerated  into  making 
pleasurable  excitement  the  sole  end  of  reading. 
Hence  he  devours  novel  after  novel  with  noth- 
ing in  view  but  the  joys  and  woes  of  imaginary 
heroines.  The  glutton  is  one  in  whom  the 
normal  desire  for  food  as  a  means  for  the  pres- 
ervation of  strength  has  degenerated  into  a 
love  of  eating  for  eating's  sake.  The  drunkard 
is  one  in  whom  pure  self-indulgence  has  taken 
the  place  of  whatever  rational  ends  men  have 
ever  sought  to  serve  by  drinking. 

7.  Pleasure  and  Desire.  —  The  pleasure  natu- 
rally associated  with  desire  is  due  to  a  contem- 
plation of  the  end  to  be  attained.  This  pleasure 
in  turn  contributes  to  the  efficiency  of  the  mind 
in  reaching  the  end.  It  is  only  in  self-indul- 
gence that  pleasure  is  ever  made  the  end  of 
action.  Not  a  little  confusion  has  arisen  in  the 
course  of  the  development  of  human  thought 
from  confounding  pleasure  as  an  end  and 
pleasure  as  a  means  of  self-expression.  It 
is  only  the  latter  that  can  properly  be 
said  to  be  the  end  of  desirt.  One  class  of 
thinkers,  conceiving  of  pleasure  as  the  end  of 


42  INTEKEST   AND  EDUCATION 

self-activity,  have  naturally  made  it  a  rule  of 
conduct.  Even  the  Declaration  of  Indepen- 
dence suggests  this  doctrine,  where  it  says  "that 
all  men  are  endowed  by  their  Creator  with  cer- 
tain inalienable  rights :  that  among  these  rights 
are  life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness." 
Another  class,  holding  the  same  view  with 
regard  to  pleasure  as  the  end  of  action,  have 
thought  it  necessary  in  the  interests  of  morality 
to  eliminate  this  motive  entirely  from  the  moral 
law.  This  is  the  position  taken  by  Kant  in  his 
"  Critique  of  Practical  Reason."  Each  of  these 
theories  is  defective  from  a  common  error%  since 
each  regards  desire  and  the  pleasure  accompany  • 
ing  it  as  prior  to,  or  outside  of,  volition.  The 
relation  of  desire  to  will  is  seen  only  when 
desire  is  conceived  as  a  stage  in  volition.  In 
the  words  of  Dr.  Dewey,  "  The  development  of 
desire  into  interest  marks  the  happy  solution  of 
the  whole  question." 

8.  Desire  and  Interest.  —  Normal  desire  is 
properly  mediated  interest,  for  interest  shows 
that  the  aroused  emotional  force  is  doing  its 
work,  performing  its  proper  function.  The  great 
problem  in  all  human  activity  is  to  get  the 


SUBJECTIVE   SIDE   OF   INTEREST  43 

right  balance  between  impulse  and  end.  Inter- 
est marks  this  .balance.  As  Dr.  Dewey  says, 
"  Interest  is  impulse  functioning  with  reference 
to  an  idea  of  self-expression." 

It  is  one  of  the  offices  of  interest  to  calm  and 
steady  the  over  tumultuous  desires.  With  all 
frontiersmen  it  is  a  well-known  fact  that  the  young 
hunter,  when  he  first  comes  face  to  face  with  a 
stag,  is  likely  to  have  what  is  called  "  buck 
ague."  His  mind  is  so  intent  upon  the  end,  the 
bringing  down  of  the  game,  that  he  loses  proper 
control  of  his  muscles;  his  whole  body  trembles, 
his  aim  is  unsteady,  the  result  being  that  the 
deer  usually  escapes.  But  with  training  it  is 
possible  for  the  hunter  to  mediate  this  desire  by 
giving  proper  attention  to  the  means  for  ac- 
complishing the  end  desired.  In  the  Leather 
stocking  Tales,  the  great  hero,  Natty  Bumpo, 
is  pictured  as  a  man  having  absolute  control  of 
his  actions,  even  in  the  most  exciting  and  peril- 
ous moments.  His  wits  are  always  about  him. 
When  there  is  need  of  haste,  there  is  with 
this  hero  instantaneous  activity,  with  proper 
attention  to  the  means  for  accomplishing  the 
desired  end. 


INTEREST  AND  ELECTIVE  STUDIES 

IN  utilizing  the  doctrine  of  interest  as  a 
regulative  principle  in  the  selection  of  studies, 
hence  in  determining  the  curriculum  for  in- 
dividuals, there  is  an  illuminating  distinction 
that  should  always  be  kept  in  mind;  it  is  the 
distinction  between  clear  ideas  and  vivid  ideas. 

A  clear  idea  is  one  that  produces  inner 
illumination  without  the  tendency  to  release 
energy.  It  shows  us  the  likenesses  and  dif- 
ferences of  the  things  about  us,  but  does  not 
stimulate  us  to  do  things.  Patients  recover- 
ing from  the  effects  of  nitrous  oxide  are  said 
to  have  wondrous  visions  of  what  seems  to 
them  absolute  truth,  the  soul  being  illumi- 
nated by  a  flood  of  all-revealing  light.  This 
is  the  clear  idea  at  its  highest  estate. 

A  vivid  idea  is  one  that  tends  to  pass  into 
action.  It  stirs  up  and  releases  energy  ;  it  is 
charged  with  emotion ;  it  pulsates  with  the 
44 


INTEREST   AND   ELECTIVE   STUDIES          45 

feelings  that  attach  themselves  to  vital  inter- 
ests. Though  vivid  ideas  may  also  be  clear, 
their  predominating  quality  is  their  tendency 
toward  motor  expression.  If  the  function  of 
clear  ideas  is  to  produce  inner  illumination, 
that  of  vivid  ideas  is  to  effect  results  in  the 
world  of  events, 


—  Though  this  use  of  the  words  clear  and  vivid 
may  seem  unusual  to  some,  yet  the  etymology  of  the 
terms  appears  to  justify  the  distinction.  That  is  clear 
which  is  pellucid,  transparent,  unobscured,  free  frofti 
confusion,  comprehensible.  In  none  of  these  attributes 
is  there  a  suggestion  of  emotion,  or  a  reference  to  sub- 
jective valuation.  Clearness  appears  to  signify  mere 
inner  illumination.  The  word  vivid,  on  the  other  hand, 
shows  by  its  derivation  from  vivere,  vita,  that  it  relates 
to  what  is  alive,  spirited,  active,  vital.  It  suggests  feel- 
ing, personality,  interest.  To  vivify  is  to  endue  with  life, 
to  enliven,  to  inspire.  Vividness  is  therefore  not  merely 
an  added  degree  of  clearness  ;  it  is  a  distinct  quality  that 
an  idea  acquires  by  its  perceived  relation  to  life. 

Men  at  work  in  the  real  situations  of  life 
always  have  vivid  ideas,  for  they  are  meeting, 
or  striving  to  meet,  the  conditions  that  de- 
termine their  business  or  professional  sur- 
vival. One  man  strives  to  succeed  as  a  teacher, 
a  preacher,  a  doctor,  or  a  lawyer  ;  another  as  a 


46  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

merchant,  an  exporter,  or  an  industrial  pro- 
ducer. About  every  calling  there  clusters 
a  group  of  vivid  ideas  having  the  power  to 
awaken  all  the  potential  energies  of  those  to 
whom  they  are  vivid.  Such  ideas  are  the 
source  of  genuine  interest.  Not  all  ideas,  how- 
ever, are  vivid  to  all  men.  Unless  a  man 
has  need  of  a  surgeon,  ideas  about  surgery 
can  at  best  be  clear.  They  may  have  a  curi- 
ous, speculative  interest  for  him,  but  they 
awaken  no  emotion,  stimulate  no  energies,  lead 
to  no  actions;  for  they  touch  upon  no  condi- 
tion underlying  his  success  in  life. 

Turning  now  to  the  school  for  the  applica- 
tion of  these  distinctions,  we  find  that  all 
primitive  people  educate  their  children  by 
means  of  vivid  ideas  alone.  The  educational 
activities  of  the  Eskimo  child  all  have  direct 
relation  to  his  future  life-work  in  getting 
food  and  producing  clothing.  Before  the 
days  of  the  book  in  Greece,  it  was  parti- 
cipation in  life  that  prepared  for  life.  In 
the  early  days  of  Rome,  the  education  of  the 
son  of  a  freeman  consisted  of  two  things, — 
physical  training  as  a  preparation  for  war, 


INTEREST   AND   ELECTIVE   STUDIES          47 

and  the  learning  of  the  twelve  tables  of  the 
laws  as  a  preparation  for  civil  life  at  home 
and  the  inculcation  of  civil  life  among  bar- 
barian peoples.  Even  when  the  higher  intel- 
lectual life  was  restricted  to  a  few  callings,  as 
in  education  for  the  church  or  for  knighthood, 
or  for  discovering  and  propagating  ancient 
learning,  ideas  which  to  most  are  now  at 
best  only  clear,  were  then  vivid. 

But  now  that  education  has  become  uni- 
versal, and  occupations  vastly  diversified,  the 
schools  are  attempting  to  supply  an  educa- 
tion that  shall  prepare  for  everything  in  gen- 
eral and  nothing  in  particular.  In  doing  this 
they  have  more  and  more  displaced  vivid  ideas 
by  those  that  are  merely  clear,  because  of  sup- 
posed universal  validity.  But  such  a  plan 
postpones  vivid  ideas  to  the  concluding  stages 
of  education,  where  they  are  least  needed,  and 
eliminates  them  largely  from  the  earlier  stages, 
where  they  are  most  needed.  It  is  evident, 
therefore,  that  vividness  should  not  be  ignored 
when  studies  are  to  be  selected. 

The  answer  to  the  question,  What  shall 
our  students  study?  depends  upon  the  func- 


48  INTEREST   AND  EDUCATION 

tion  the  school,  and  especially  the  high 
school,  is  supposed  to  perform.  As  men  differ 
regarding  the  nature  of  education,  so  they 
differ  as  to  the  purpose  of  the  school.  I 
venture  to  quote  with  approval  the  statement 
made  by  the  venerated  scientist,  Lord  Kelvin, 
in  an  address  to  the  students  of  Cornell 
University.  "The  higher  education,"  he  said, 
"  has  two  purposes,  —  first,  to  enable  the 
/  student  to  earn  a  livelihood,  and,  second,  to 
make  life  worth  living."  In  an  industrial 
democracy,  neither  of  these  purposes  must 
be  neglected,  even  though  the  studies  lying 
closest  to  livelihood  are  the  most  vivid.  With 
a  dominant  land  and  slave-owning  oligarchy,  as 
in  Greece,  or  with  a  limited  religious  body  as 
in  the  Middle  Ages,  it  was  not  necessary  for 
education  to  concern  itself  with  industrial 
thrift.  Even  in  the  times  of  Erasmus,  edu- 
cated men  were  hardly  expected  to  earn  their 
own  living,  but  were  led  to  depend  upon  the 
class  of  men  who  then  endowed  scholars  as 
they  now  endow  schools.  Being  freed  from 
all  obligation  to  teach  the  masses  how  to  earn 
their  daily  bread,  the  school  could  have  a  cur- 


INTEREST   AND  ELECTIVE  STUDIES          49 

riculum  whose  single  aim  was  to  raise  the 
individual  into  the  realms  of  culture  deemed 
most  desirable  by  the  age. 

The  Greek  ideal  of  art,  philosophy,  and 
social  intercourse,  to  which  we  not  seldom 
confine  the  word  culture,  remains  for  many, 
even  to  the  present  day,  the  chief  end  of  edu- 
cation. So  the  unified  mediaeval  curriculum, 
consisting  of  the  seven  liberal  arts,  together 
with  philosophy  and  theology,  reaching  as  it 
did  from  the  lowly  earth  to  the  vaulted  skies, 
is  still  for  many  the  prototype  of  all  that  a 
curriculum  should  be,  —  fixed,  unified,  uni- 
versal; perfect  in  limb  and  feature,  as  inca- 
pable of  improvement  as  the  sphere  is  of  being 
more  spherical.  We  admire  the  culture  of 
the  Greek  and  the  curriculum  of  the  school- 
man, but  we  forget  that  the  foundation  of  the 
one  was  slavery,  and  the  presupposition  of  the 
other  was  the  academic  seclusion  of  a  small 
body  of  men. 

The  modern  world,  though  cherishing  the 
good  things  in  ancient  culture,  and  admir- 
ing the  architectural  unity  of  the  mediaeval 
curriculum  of  study,  has  refused  to  be  guided 


50  INTEREST  AND   EDUCATION 

by  the  ideals  of  the  one,  or  to  be  forced  into 
the  moulds  of  the  other.  The  reason  is  not 
far  to  seek,  for  it  is  evident  to  all  observers 
that  modern  conditions  are  wholly  different 
from  those  of  the  ancient  or  the  mediaeval 
world. 

There  are  three  things  that  make  this  depar- 
ture from  old  ideals  imperative.  They  are :  — 

1.  The  extension  of  knowledge ; 

2.  The  differentiation  of  industries;  and, 

3.  The  universalizing  of  education. 

The  eighteenth  century  gave  us  physics 
and  mathematics,  and  the  nineteenth  gave  us 
biology,  yet  up  to  fifty  years  ago  the  higher 
schools  taught  little  besides  Latin  and  Greek 
and  elementary  mathematics.  Since  that  time 
both  the  exact  and  the  evolutionary  sciences, 
which  were  developed  outside  the  school, 
have  become  an  essential  part  of  the  curric- 
ulum, not  only  in  their  pure,  but  also  in 
their  applied,  forms.  The  humanities  them- 
selves, once  the  main  reliance  of  the  school- 
man, have  been  greatly  enlarged.  In  the 
times  of  Erasmus,  the  vernacular  in  each  of 
the  countries  of  Europe  was  a  tongue  for 


INTEREST  AND  ELECTIVE   STUDIES  51 

peasants.  Scholars  spoke  Latin.  Erasmus 
himself  dwelt  successively  in  Holland,  Ger- 
many, France,  Italy,  Austria,  and  England; 
yet  he  could  speak  neither  German  nor 
French,  Italian  nor  English,  and  he  apologized 
to  a  friend  in  Holland  for  writing  to  him  in 
Latin,  since  he  wrote  his  mother  tongue  so 
ill.  To-day,  however,  all  these  vernaculars 
have  become  culture  languages,  which  are 
taught  in  our  schools  for  their  linguistic  and 
literary  value.  History,  which  was  almost 
rudimentary  fifty  years  ago,  has  become  a 
modern  science  of  large  and  constantly  in- 
creasing dimensions,  while  psychology,  ethics, 
sociology,  and  indeed  all  aspects  of  the  human 
sciences,  have  been  transformed  by  the  new 
methods  of  evolution. 

Not  only  have  industries  been  differentiated, 
but  behind  each  of  them  lies  a  body  of  scientific 
knowledge,  which  its  leaders  must  master.  In 
witness  of  this  fact,  one  may  point  to  the 
sciences  taught  in  the  modern  university  as  a 
preparation  for  a  knowledge  of  agriculture,  a 
subject  which  the  race  has  always  thought  it 
understood. 


52  INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 

Once  academic  and  higher  education  was  a 
professional  preparation  for  a  few  restricted 
callings,  but  now  it  is  a  preparation  for  the 
higher  stages  of  all  callings.  It  is  the  proud 
boast  of  engineers  that  they  will  soon  be  the 
best  educated  professional  body  in  existence. 

Not  only  has  higher  education  expanded  to 
meet  the  needs  of  mechanical,  electrical,  chemical, 
and  civil  engineers,  but  it  also  provides  instruc- 
tion for  those  who  follow  agriculture,  horticul- 
ture, forestry,  architecture,  as  well  as  for  any 
department  of  pure  or  applied  natural  or  social 
science.  "  I  would  found,"  said  Ezra  Cornell, 
"an  institution  where  any  person  may  find 
instruction  in  any  subject."  This  is  the  spirit 
of  modern  education.  The  humanities  are  not 
forgotten  or  restricted;  on  the  contrary,  they 
are  vastly  extended.  The  languages  are 
increased  from  two  to  five  or  six ;  the  meagre 
amount  of  literature  that  could  once  be  read 
in  foreign  tongues  is  reenforced  by  a  world 
literature  in  English;  the  fine  arts  are  taught 
as  never  before,  and  are  applied  to  every  phase 
of  industrial  and  social  life;  history  has  ex- 
panded into  a  science  so  far-reaching  that  no 


INTEREST  AND  ELECTIVE  STUDIES          53 

one  man  now  pretends  to  be  master  of  more 
than  a  fraction  of  it.  The  modern  university, 
in  short,  now  furnishes  knowledge  and  technical 
skill  in  practically  all  the  human  sciences,  the 
natural  sciences,  and  the  economic  sciences. 

The  bodies  of  knowledge  that  have  caused 
such  unexampled  university  expansion  are  in 
general  now  available  in  the  high  school.  This 
fact  makes  it  possible,  and  the  demands  of  life 
make  it  desirable,  for  the  high  school  to  offer 
many  more  studies  than  any  one  student  can 
possibly  pursue.  Thus  at  least  five  languages 
may  be  offered  instead  of  two,  the  work  in 
history  and  literature  may  be  indefinitely 
extended,  while  all  the  sciences,  each  with 
laboratory  practice,  may  be  added,  to  say  noth- 
ing, of  training  in  manual  and  business  tech- 
nique. Election  on  some  basis  seems  inevitable. 
Were  we  not  a  democracy,  we  might  ignore 
the  claims  of  all  classes,  except  the  few  that 
in  the  past  have  enjoyed  the  advantages  of 
training  and  culture.  But  such  a  policy  is 
now  as  impossible  as  it  is  undesirable.  We 
might  employ  the  European  expedient,  and 
establish  schools  for  the  social  castes,  building 


54  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

classical  schools  for  the  sons  of  patricians,  and 
trade  and  technical  schools  for  the  toilers. 
German,  French,  and  English  children  have 
to  elect  schools,  but,  outside  our  great  cities, 
American  children  cannot  do  this  even  if  they 
would,  for  we  have  but  one  type  of  high 
school.  Our  pupils  must  elect  studies  if  they 
elect  anything.  Under  such  circumstances, 
the  attempt  to  have  a  uniform  fixed  curric- 
ulum has  manifold  and  obvious  disadvantages. 

Just  as  a  Franklin  press  is  easier  to  operate 
than  a  modern  Hoe  press,  but  is  far  less  effi- 
cient, so  an  old-fashioned  fixed  curriculum 
for  secondary  schools  is  simpler  to  administer 
but  has  serious  defects.  Some  of  the  more 
obvious  defects  may  be  mentioned. 

In  the  first  place,  such  a  curriculum  denies 
a  place  to  many  subjects  that  have  proved 
themselves  as  valuable  as  those  chosen  both 
for  the  generation  of  power  and  for  usefulness 
in  future  callings.  To  omit  such  subjects  is 
to  fail  to  prepare  students  in  the  best  way 
for  new  lines  of  university  work,  and  for  new 
forms  of  industrial  occupation.  A  fixed  cur- 
riculum fails,  moreover,  to  give  the  student 


INTEREST  AND   ELECTIVE   STUDIES  55 

all  the  types  of  mental  training  to  which  he 
is  entitled.  The  methods  of  linguistics  and  of 
mathematics  by  no  means  exhaust  the  distinc- 
tive forms  of  training  to  be  had  in  education. 
To  mention  a  single  instance,  they  fail  to  give 
any  adequate  training  to  the  intellectual  motor 
powers  which  are  essential  to  the  effective 
education  of  youth.  The  experimental  sci- 
ences, manual  training,  and  certain  parts  of 
commercial  courses  supply  this  element  in 
abundance. 

In  the  next  place,  a  fixed  curriculum  leaves 
a  large  part  of  the  latent  ability,  of  the  students 
still  inert,  for  no  student  has  his  powers  ap- 
pealed to  on  all  sides ;  moreover,  some  are 
much  more  gifted  in  the  things  not  included 
in  the  curriculum  than  they  are  in  those  that 
are  chosen.  Some  excel  most  in  languages, 
some  in  history,  some  in  mathematics,  some  in 
quantitative  others  in  qualitative  or  evolu- 
tionary sciences,  while  still  others  may  be 
strongest  in  aesthetic  studies  or  in  constructive 
exercises.  It  may  almost  be  said  that  capac- 
ity to  receive  polish  through  so-called  culture 
studies  is  a  gift  confined  to  the  few.  There 


56  INTEREST  AND   EDUCATION 

is  plenty  of  soft  wood  in  the  world,  which, 
though  useful,  does  not  admit  of  high  polish. 
Moreover,  when  mathematics  is  associated  with 
languages  or  other  discrete  subjects,  it  may 
become  a  burden  even  to  the  able,  while  to 
the  less  gifted  it  is  likely  to  prove  a  veritable 
desert  of  abstractions.  But  the  same  minds 
that  wilt  and  droop  under  an  infliction  of 
isolated  mathematics  will  grow  and  thrive 
through  the  association  of  the  study  with 
quantitative  science  or  with  exercises  in  the 
construction  of  things. 

Again,  a  fixed  curriculum  lacks,  for  many 
y  students,  those  associations  of  ideas  that  are 
capable  of  rousing  the  mind  to  its  best  efforts. 
We  do  not  sufficiently  regard  the  principle  of 
induction  in  education.  When  a  study  can 
be  found  that  appeals  powerfully  to  the  stu- 
dent's interest,  which  arouses  his  dormant 
powers  like  a  trumpet  call,  it  is  nearly  always 
possible  to  secure  an  induced  interest  in  allied 
subjects  that  can  be  shown  to  be  contributory 
to  the  ends  most  desired.  When  students  are 
animated  by  powerful  interests,  as,  for  example, 
in  professional  courses,  they  submit  cheerfully 


INTEREST   Aim  ELECTIVE   STUDIES          57 

to  large  amounts  of  study ;  but  when  they  are 
dealing  with  systems  of  ideas  to  which  no  vital 
interests  are  attached,  they  clamor  for  variety 
and  light  work. 

It  has  long  been  the  dream  of  the  school- 
man that  somehow,  sometime,  an  ideal  fixed 
curriculum  will  be  devised  which  may  be 
properly  imposed  upon  all  youth,  and  which 
will  be  equally  beneficial  and  essential  in  the 
education  of  all.  Like  most  dreams,  this,  too, 
is  an  illusion.  The  three  things  that  are  lead- 
ing us  away  from,  rather  than  toward,  such 
an  ideal,,  are,  as  we  have  seen,  the  expansion 
of  knowledge,  the  differentiation  of  industries, 
and  the  universalizing  of  higher  education.) 
It  cannot  be  regarded  as  reasonable  to  select 
a  few  from  a  large  number  of  equally  good 
studies,  and  say  that  these  alone  shall  be 
taught.  When  dozens  of  diverse  industries 
are  clamoring  for  trained  leaders,  it  cannot 
be  regarded  as  reasonable  to  say  that  we  will 
bring  our  educational  system  into  close  rela- 
tions with  a  few  only.  Finally,  when  every 
form  of  talent  offers  itself  for  the  higher  train- 
ing, it  cannot  be  regarded  as  reasonable  to  say 


58  INTEREST   AND  EDUCATION 

that  we  will  educate  a  few  types  only.  All 
studies,  all  industries,  all  talents,  must  be 
taken  into  consideration.  It  cannot  be  said 
that  the  problems  now  confronting  the  school- 
man are  simpler  than  they  once  were ;  they 
are  vastly  more  complicated.  At  the  same 
time,  they  are  more  interesting  and  more 
important. 

At  this  point  I  wish  to  call  attention  to  the 
self-evident  proposition  that  merely  naming 
the  studies  to  be  taught  or  showing  into  what 
groups  they  naturally  fall,  is  inadequate  as  an 
answer  to  the  query  concerning  what  branches 
high  school  students  shall  study.  We  must, 
for  instance,  distinguish  between  physics  and 
chemistry  as  sciences  and  these  subjects  as 
nature  work,  making  clear  to  ourselves  that 
nature  work  simply  explains  instances  of 
natural  laws,  whereas  science  seeks  the  laws 
underlying  instances,  or  verifies  laws  .by 
means  of  examples.  But  even  where  we  con- 
fine ourselves  to  the  scientific  aspects  of 
physics,  chemistry,  and  biology,  there  may 
yet  be  a  wide  range  for  the  kind,  amount,  and 
spirit  of  the  instruction.  These  subjects  can 


INTEREST   AND   ELECTIVE   STUDIES          59 

be  so  taught  as  to  stimulate  an  unbounded 
curiosity  in  them,  or  they  may  be  so  presented 
as  to  dry  up  the  natural  springs  of  interest. 
I  have  seen  the  science  classes  in  a  college 
double  in  size  and  quadruple  in  interest, 
through  the  influence  of  a  scientific  society 
meeting  once  a  month,  and  in  which  pro- 
fessors and  students  read  reports  on  the  latest 
and  most  striking  scientific  discoveries  and 
events.  Our  high  school  pupils  come  to  us 
eager  to  understand  such  things  as  the  motor, 
the  telephone,  wireless  telegraphy,  X-rays,  and 
liquid  air.  They  have  a  natural  interest  in 
striking  phenomena  of  every  kind.  No  form 
of  literary  work  in  a  high  school  could  excel, 
in  value  and  attractiveness,  weekly  reports 
upon  scientific  discoveries  and  inventions.  Yet 
some  people  ridicule  these  stimuli  to  scientific 
interest.  When,  for  example,  English  school- 
masters were  testifying  before  the  Royal  Com- 
mission upon  the  difficulties  met  in  scientific 
instruction,  one  master  asserted  that  he  had 
no  difficulty  in  arousing  interest  in  chemistry. 
When  asked  what  chemistry  he  taught,  he 
replied,  "The  chemistry  of  explosive  sub- 


60  INTEREST  AND   EDUCATION 

stances."  All  academic  England  laughed  in 
derisive  glee.  It  may  be  that  this  man's  teach- 
ing of  chemistry  both  began  and  ended  in  a  v 
flash  and  a  bang,  in  which  case  it  could  not 
have  amounted  to  much.  But  if  the  flash  and 
the  bang  made  his  boys  think  chemistry  a  great 
study,  and  thereby  introduced  them  to  system- 
atic work,  who  shall  say  that  the  seemingly 
foolish  counsel  implied  in  the  reply  was  not 
the  greater  wisdom?  What  is  true  of  science 
is  true  of  the  other  subjects.  It  is  possible  to 
teach  ancient  languages  for  purposes  now 
archaic.  Once  Latin  and  Greek  were  the 
means  both  for  getting  and  for  expressing  ideas. 
Nobody  now  either  writes  or  speaks  in  Latin. 
Yet  in  John  Sturm's  school  the  pupils  in  the 
first  six  years  of  their  course  committed  to 
memory  twenty  thousand  Latin  words,  which 
they  used  as  a  means  of  expressing  thought. 
We  must  teach  Latin  for  modern  purposes, 
the  greatest  of  which  is,  as  Professor  Ben- 
nett tells  us,  its  influence  upon  the  English 
language.  To  those  who  believe  this,  one  may 
venture  to  ask,  with  Professor  Bennett,  whether 
the  relation  of  Latin  pronunciation  to  English 


INTEREST  AND   ELECTIVE   STUDIES          61 

etymology  is  not  vastly  more  important  than 
its  relation  to  the  pronunciation  of  other  for- 
eign European  languages,  and  if  this  is  true, 
whether  we  should  not  incontinently  get  back 
to  the  English  pronunciation  ? 

Holding  in  mind  now  the  difference  between  ^ 
education  that  promotes  survival  by  its  vivid- 
ness and  that  which  conduces  merely  to  sub- 
jective illumination ;  and  remembering  that 
every  field  of  knowledge  is  vastly  extended 
and  enriched  by  new  methods  of  approach ; 
that  the  diversified  industries  have  in  their 
higher  stages  passed  from  the  field  of  tradi- 
tional procedure  to  that  of  scientific  direction; 
and,  finally,  that  higher  education  has  become 
the  privilege,  not  alone  of  a  few  favored 
castes,  but  of  the  leaders  of  all  callings,  —  let 
us  examine  the  principles  that  should  govern 
in  the  selection  of  studies  for  the  individual.  V" 

It  may  be  assumed,  first  of  all,  that  a 
normal,  well-educated  man  should  at  least  be 
intelligent  concerning  the  conquests  of  his 
race  in  all  the  distinct  fields  of  its  endeavor. 
He  need  not,  indeed,  be  master  of  Greek, 
Spanish,  calculus,  ontology,  physical  chemistry, 


62  INTEREST   AND  EDUCATION 

geology,  civil  engineering,  law,  medicine,  the- 
ology ;  but  he  should  at  least  know  that  these 
studies  exist,  comprehend  something  of  their 
respective  functions,  and  be  familiar  with  some 
of  their  elements.  In  other  words,  the  nor- 
mally constituted  mind  should  dwell,  for  a 
time  at  least,  upon  each  distinctive  depart- 
ment  of  important  human  knowledge.  What 
are  these  departments  ?  They  are  easily  classi- 
fied into  groups  sufficiently  exact  for  educa- 
tional purposes. 

We  have  first  of  all  the  human  sciences, — 
those  that  pertain  to  man  as  man,  to  his  life 
as  embodied  in  institutions.  Excluding  the 
professional  aspects  of  such  studies,  this  group 
embraces  languages,  ancient  and  modern,  litera- 
ture, art,  and  history. 

Next  we  have  the  natural  sciences,  —  those 
that  pertain  to  nature  as  such,  —  they  are 
physics,  chemistry,  and  astronomy,  together 
with  their  basis  of  pure  mathematics;  the  bio- 
logical sciences;  and  the  earth  sciences,  like 
physical  geography  and  geology. 

Finally  we  have  the  economic  sciences, — 
those  that  show  the  mind  of  man  in  intimate 


INTEREST   AND   ELECTIVE   STUDIES          63 

interaction  with  the  forces  of  nature.  These 
sciences  embrace  economics  proper,  technology, 
and  commercial  knowledge  and  technique. 

We  have  here  from  nine  to  twelve  distinct 
departments  of  knowledge,  according  to  the 
minuteness  of  our  classification.  The  social 
reason  why  every  student  should  have  some- 
thing of  each,  is  that  each  represents  a  distinct 
and  important  department  of  human  achieve- 
ment. The  psychological  reason  why  each 
mind  should  come  in  contact  with  every  one 
of  these  departments,  is  that  each  one  embodies 
a  distinct  method,  a  definite  mental  movement, 
not  found  adequately  represented  in  any  other 
branch.  The  method  of  linguistics,  for  in- 
stance, is  quite  distinct  from  that  of  mathe- 
matics or  art  or  history.  The  evolutionary 
sciences  are  wholly  different  in  method  from 
the  exact  sciences.  In  the  same  way  commer- 
cial technique  differs  from  that  of  mechanics. 

Arguing  now  from  these  self-evident  facts, 
the  first  principle  I  propose  for  the  selection 
of  a  normal  boy's  course  of  study  is  that  he 
should  take  at  least  something  from  each  chief 
department  representing  a  peculiar  method  and 


64  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

a  specific  body  of  important  knowledge.  The 
second  principle  is  that  the  boy,  aided  by  his 
parents  and  advised  by  his  teacher,  should  be 
allowed  to  elect  what  studies  he  will  take  within 
each  department.  The  first  principle  fixes  the 
types  the  student  shall  have  represented  in  his 
education;  the  second  allows  the  individual  to 
put  the  emphasis  where  he  will,  to  determine 
what  department  of  the  university  he  will 
enter,  to  select  his  studies  in  view  of  his  future 
career.  In  this  way  the  ideas  growing  out  of 
his  school  work  become,  not  only  clear,  but 
vivid.  The  student  ceases  to  mark  time,  or 
to  try  to  escape  from  school ;  on  the  contrary, 
he  works  with  accelerating  earnestness  and 
enthusiasm. 

If  provided  with  equally  efficient  teachers 
and  supplied  with  equally  good  equipments, 
the  student  in  the  scientific,  the  technological, 
or  the  commercial  course  is  not  inferior  to  his 
brother  in  the  arts  course  in  the  range  of  his 
education,  in  the  quality  of  his  discipline,  in 
the  dignity  of  his  work,  or  in  the  worthiness  of 
his  destination.  Difference  is  not  inferiority. 

In  determining  what  studies  a  student  may 


INTEREST   AND  ELECTIVE   STUDIES          65 

be  permitted  to  elect,  one  must  not  fail  to  dis- 
tinguish between  interests  that  are  transient 
because  of  the  novelty  of  the  subject  or  the 
manner  of  the  presentation,  and  those  that  are 
vital  and  relatively  permanent  because  rooted 
in  bodies  of  vivid  ideas.  Interest  often  follows 
the  teacher.  A  pleasing  personality,  a  happy  ^  ^ 
method  of  presentation,  will  frequently  secure  /) 
an  interest  on  the  part  of  the  student  which 
is  active  as  long  as  it  lasts.  It  is  not  uncom- 
mon to  find  teachers  who  make  any  subject 
that  they  teach  interesting.  Such  teachers  are 
highly  prized,  for  they  bring  student  and  study 
into  the  happiest  contact,  thus  presenting  eachX 
body  of  ideas  in  such  a  way  that  it  has  the 
best  possible  chance  of  becoming  vivid.  In 
many  cases,  however,  the  interest  awakened  is 
due,  not  to  the  study  itself,  but  to  the  one 
who  teaches  it.  In  another  grade,  under  an- 
other teacher,  it  may  become  tedious,  so  that, 
unless  it  is  contributory  to  some  other  body 
of  ideas  that  is  vivid,  the  study  is  likely  to 
prove  unprofitable.  But  if  the  student  is  bent 
upon  following  some  branch  of  engineering, 
for  example,  and  finds  geometry  hard,  he  will 


66  INTEREST  AND   EDUCATION 

not  think  of  flinching  from  the  work  of  over- 
coming the  obstacles  that  geometry  presents ; 
for,  as  Dr.  Dewey  would  say,  the  interest  in 
the  end,  the  engineering,  is  transferred  to  the 
means,  the  geometry.  In  other  words,  the 
geometry  borrows  its  vividness  from  another 
body  of  ideas. 

Again,  mere  novelty  of  subject  often  lends 
a  fictitious  interest.  The  ardent  desire  that 
pupils  often  show  for  making  collections,  for 
trying  experiments,  for  dabbling  with  chemi- 
cals, and  for  trying  new  things  generally,  is 
an  evidence  of  this  kind  of  interest.  Such 
excursions  into  new  fields  are  by  no  means 
to  be  deplored,  for  they  may  be  the  chief 
agency  in  revealing  the  student  to  himself, 
of  enabling  him  to  discover  his  aptitudes  and 
permanent  motives.  But  the  flashes  should 
not  be  mistaken  for  enduring  fires. 

On  the  other  hand,  for  reasons  already  given, 
the  student  should  at  some  point  of  his  late 
grammar,  or  his  secondary  period,  come  into 
contact  with  each  great  department  of  knowl- 
edge, else  he  is  in  danger  of  missing  the  sub- 
jects that  would  otherwise  prove  of  the  greatest 


INTEREST    AND   ELECTIVE   STUDIES          67 

value  and  interest  to  him.  In  the  words  of 
the  Committee  of  Ten:  "The  youth  who  has 
never  studied  any  but  his  native  language  can- 
not know  his  own  capacity  for  linguistic 
acquisition;  and  the  youth  who  has  never 
made  a  chemical  or  physical  experiment  cannot 
know  whether  or  not  he  has  taste  for  exact 
science.  The  wisest  teacher  or  the  most 
observant  parent  can  hardly  predict  with  con- 
fidence a  boy's  gift  for  a  subject  which  he  has 
never  touched."  There  should,  therefore,  be 
a  fair  trial  of  each  subject  under  favorable 
circumstances,  before  it  is  dismissed  from 
further  consideration.  It  is  at  this  point  that 
the  teacher,  with  his  wider  knowledge  of  the 
interrelations  of  subjects,  must  show  the  stu- 
dent what  instrumental  value  even  a  distaste- 
ful study  has  in  the  realization  of  purposes 
already  formed.  The  study  of  mathematics  is 
essential  to  exact  science.  The  study  of  lin- 
guistics is  necessary  for  literary  efficiency. 

To  put  the  foregoing  doctrine  into  its  brief- 
est form,  departments  of  work  are  prescribed 
in  so  far  as  they  embody  knowledge  necessary 
either  for  earning  a  livelihood  or  for  making 


68  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

life  worth  living ;  but  the  studies  within  depart 
ments,  so  far  as  they  represent  anything  like 
equality  of  value,  are  to  be  made  elective.  In 
other  words,  students  elect,  not  departments, 
but  more  or  less  equivalent  studies  within  de- 
partments. The  result  is  that  all  leading  types 
both  of  knowledge  and  of  training  will  be  rep- 
resented in  each  student's  education,  while  the 
elasticity  allowed  gives  each  the  best  possible 
chance  of  discovering  his  greatest  powers,  and 
of  finding  those  bodies  of  ideas  which  to  him 
are  most  clear  and  vivid. 

It  matters  little  whether  this  freedom  take 
the  form  of  elective  courses  as  recommended 
by  the  Committee  of  Ten,  or  whether  it  take 
the  form  of  apparently  free  election,  as  at  Bos- 
ton, at  Ithaca,  or  at  Galesburg.  Nor  need  we 
fear  that  tradition  will  not  have  its  due  in- 
fluence. It  takes  a  courageous  mind  to  forego 
classics  for  modern  languages  if  such  a  course 
is  thought  to  be  an  evidence  of  lack  of  ability 
or  of  diligence.  There  is  more  danger  that  a 
student  will  elect  the  old  studies  to  his  injury 
than  that  he  will  suffer  harm  from  choosing 
the  new.  Witness  the  fact  that  the  propor- 


INTEREST    AND  ELECTIVE   STUDIES  69 

tion  of  high  school  students  taking  Latin  has 
doubled  during  the  last  ten  years. 

Thus  far,  unless  by  implication,  I  have  not 
urged  the  worth  of  any  one  department  of  high 
school  work  to  the  disadvantage  of  any  other. 
I  may  perhaps  be  allowed,  in  closing,  to  state 
my  opinion  as  to  the  kind  of  work  that  would 
do  the  most  in  our  high  schools  to  stimulate 
vivid  ideas,  especially  in  the  boys.  Our  great- 
est lack,  particularly  in  courses  in  which  the 
humanities  prevail,  is  the  meagreness  of  op- 
portunity for  vigorous  outgoing  motor  expres- 
sion. This  can  be  found  most  effectively  in 
laboratory  practice  and  in  manual  training. 
To  show  where  we  stand  in  the  amount  of  the 
latter  kind  of  work  as  compared  with  Germany, 
I  quote  the  opinion  of  Professor  Thurston  of 
Cornell.  To  educate  our  people  as  well  in 
these  respects  as  Germany  does,  he  says  we 
should  have  in  this  country:  — 

1.  "Twenty  technical  universities,  having  in 
their  schools   of   engineering  and  higher  tech- 
nics 50  instructors  and  500  pupils  each. 

2.  "Fifty  trade  schools  and  colleges,  of  20 
instructors  and  300  students  each. 


70  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

3.  "  Two  thousand  technical  high  schools,  or 
manual-training  schools,  of  10  instructors  and 
200  pupils  each. 

"  That  is  to  say,  there  should  be  in  the  United 
States  to-day  1000  university  professors  and 
instructors  and  10,000  students  under  their 
tuition  studying  the  highest  branches  of  tech- 
nical work;  there  should  be  1000  college  pro- 
fessors and  15,000  pupils  in  technical  schools 
studying  for  superior  positions  in  the  arts ;  and 
20,000  teachers  engaged  in  trade  and  manual- 
training  schools,  instructing  pupils  400,000  in 
number,  proposing  to  become  skilled  workmen. 
We  have  in  this  country  10,000,000  families, 
among  which  are  at  least  1,000,000  boys  who 
should  be  in  the  latter  class  of  schools." 

Our  need  of  such  training  from  an  economic 
point  of  view  does  not  compare  with  that  of 
the  Germans,  for  while  we  have  unlimited  re- 
sources in  field  and  mine,  and  abundant  room 
for  internal  expansion,  they  are  increasing  rap- 
idly in  population  within  an  area  small  in  ex- 
tent and  but  scantily  furnished  with  agricultural 
and  mineral  resources.  Germans  must  expand 
their  foreign  market  for  manufactured  goods, 


INTEREST  AND  ELECTIVE  STUDIES          71 

or  starve.  Our  need  is  more  a  subjective  one. 
We  desire  to  make  the  most  of  every  life,  to 
develop  it  to  the  limit  of  its  powers,  to  enrich 
its  production,  and  to  sweeten  its  existence. 
It  is  both  necessary  and  desirable  that  we 
should  cherish  the  noble  educational  ideals  of 
the  past,  and  use  to  a  large  extent  the  means 
of  training  that  numerous  generations  have 
found  good;  but  it  is  equally  imperative  that 
our  students  should  participate  freely  in  the 
knowledge  and  activities  of  the  present.  Under- 
standing is  promoted  through  that  clear  appre- 
hension of  the  past  achievements  of  the  race 
which  contemplation  provides,  but  efficiency 
comes  through  vivid  participation  in  the  activi- 
ties that  promote  survival ;  for,  though  insight 
comes  through  revelation,  power  comes  through 
action. 


VI 

EDUCATION,  INTEREST,  AND  SURVIVAL 

AMONG  primitive  peoples  it  is  life  that  edu- 
cates ;  among  modern  cultured  races  it  is  the 
book.  Primitive  education  is  effective,  but 
limited.  It  transmits  but  little  from  the  past, 
and  promotes  but  little  progress.  Modern 
school  education  stores  the  mind  with  much 
inherited  lore,  but  its  isolation  from  the  reali- 
ties of  life  tends  to  make  it  ineffective ;  it 
promotes  survival  only  indirectly,  in  that  it 
trains  the  mind  and  furnishes  the  tools  of 
learning. 

One  can  count  with  certainty  upon  interest 
when  life  educates,  but  not  so  surely  when  the 
school  performs  this  function.  It  may  be  that 
the  school  will  seem  so  far  removed  from  the 
recognizable  agencies  of  survival  that  the  pupil 
will  remain  in  it  no  longer  than  circumstances 
compel  him  to.  The  problem  of  the  teacher  in 
the  modern  school  is  not  an  easy  one,  for  not 
72 


EDUCATION,  INTEREST,  AND   SURVIVAL      73 

only  must  he  make  his  instruction  really  ser- 
viceable to  the  pupil  for  his  future  life,  but  he 
must  bring  distant  ends  so  near  that  they  will 
furnish  real  motives  for  present  endeavor. 
Unless  the  teacher  can  do  this,  the  pupil  fails 
to  experience  any  abiding  enthusiasm  for  his 
work.  To  be  truly  educative,  the  instruction 
of  the  school  must  be  able  to  contribute  power- 
fully to  the  pupil's  future  welfare ;  and  it  must 
be  so  imparted  that  immediate  ends  shall  con- 
tribute to  make  the  distant  ones  seem  real. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  most  of  our  education  is 
at  present  so  conducted  that  children  take  it  as 
an  enforced  prescription,  while  the  life  outside 
of  the  schoolroom  furnishes  them  all  their  in- 
centives to  action.  In  general  we  find  the 
mass  of  children  early  shaking  off  the  effects 
of  our  subjective  training,  rapidly  forgetting  all 
we  taught  them,  except  the  multiplication  table 
and  a  few  other  useful  tools  of  knowledge,  and, 
inspired  by  the  activity  about  them,  taking 
their  place  among  the  classes  that  survive.  It 
is  indeed  some  comfort  to  the  teacher  to  know 
that,  however  little  he  may  promote  the  power 
of  survival  in  a  pupil,  he  cannot  wholly  spoil  a 


T4  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

thoroughly  active  mind,  or  entirely  counteract 
the  influence  of  the  outside  world  of  achieve- 
ment. Yet  our  school  education  should  be  of  a 
character  actively  to  promote  the  qualities  that 
lead  to  survival.  Our  pupils  should  survive 
somewhat  because  of  our  teaching,  not  entirely 
in  spite  of  it. 

One  unfortunate  result  of  insisting  that  the 
student  shall  spend  years  upon  a  body  of  knowl- 
edge that  to  him  is  devoid  of  vital  motives,  is 
that  such  a  policy  not  only  fails  to  give  an  ade- 
quate development  to  the  mind,  but  also  leads 
at  times  to  results  that  Lombroso  would  call 
forms  of  degeneration.  Among  the  degenerates 
that  such  culture  helps  to  produce,  four  classes 
come  readily  to  mind. 

First,  there  is  the  class  that  may  be  called  the 
intellectual  aristocrats.  They  are  the  men  who 
cherish  archaic  ideals,  especially  in  education ; 
who  try  to  measure  the  present  by  the  stand- 
ards of  an  "outgrown  past.  They  cherish  what 
Professor  Baldwin  calls  autotelic  ideals  of  cul- 
ture, where  every  study  is  an  end  in  itself.  It 
is  art  for  art's  sake.  In  their  view  the  diagogic 
culture  of  the  Greek  should  rule  in  the  edu- 


EDUCATION,  INTEREST,  AND   SURVIVAL      75 

cation  of  the  leaders  of  an  industrial  civiliza- 
tion. They  deny  the  badge  of  scholarship  to  all 
who  do  not  accept  their  standards.  They 
deplore  a  commercial  education  as  basely  utili- 
tarian. An  intellectual  aristocrat  is,  as  one  re- 
cently said  in  New  York,  lost  in  uncertainty,  until 
the  stranger  speaks,  as  to  whether  the  alleged 
university  man  to  whom  he  is  introduced  is  "  a 
scholar  or  merely  a  sublimated  type  of  tinker." 
Intellectual  aristocrats  resent  giving  honorary 
degrees  to  eminent  men  whose  qualifications  for 
such  a  distinction  are  only  oratory  and  states- 
manship, or  eminent  achievement  in  public  ser- 
vice. Such  men,  in  so  far  as  their  characters 
are  consistent,  do  not  truly  survive  in  a  modern 
world ;  for,  when  tested  by  the  standards  of 
survival,  we  see  that  they  merely  exist,  since 
they  either  live  upon  the  accumulations  of 
worthier  men,  or  they  subsist  on  the  bounty  of 
those  who  find  their  gibes  amusing. 

A  second   class  of  degenerates  produced  by 
too  much  culture  of  a  wrong  kind  are  those  we 
call  duties.     They  are  creatures  whose    inheri- 
tance of  culture   has   eclipsed   their  intellects. 
V    A  third  class,  more  respectable,  but  scarcely 


76  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

less  unfortunate  than  the  first  two,  are  those 
who  may  be  called  academic  paralytics.  They 
are  men  who  make  a  profession  of  their  own 
education,  and  who  thus  gradually  bring  about 
a  paralysis  of  their  executive  powers,  while 
cramming  their  heads  with  ideas  more  or  less 
clear.  All  too  frequently  men  of  this  class 
become  teachers,  thus  tending  to  increase  their 
kind  by  propagating  subjective  ideals  of  educa- 
tion. 

A  fourth  class  of  culture-degenerates,  found 
oftenest  in  the  older  parts  of  our  country,  and 
produced  in  part  at  least  by  scarcity  of  vivid 
ideas,  are  what  may  be  called  the  digestive 
paralytics.  They  are  men  whose  systems  must 
be  nourished  by  milk  and  regulated  by  tablets. 
Not  unfrequently  this  class  have  abnormally 
developed  brains.  They  are  like  large  engines 
with  small  boilers.  Their  feelings  are  intense, 
but  often  abnormal ;  their  formal  intellectual 
powers  are  great,  but  usually  directed  to  reac- 
tionary, visionary,  or  subjective  ends.  They 
neither  exert  permanent  influence,  nor  beget 
healthy  children. 

Yet  after  all,  our  country  has  but  few  degen- 


EDUCATION,  INTEREST,  AND   SURVIVAL      77 

crates,  even  if  we  count  in  the  men  of  genius, 
all  of  whom  Lombroso  regards  as  degener- 
ates. The  chief  fault  to  be  found  with  a  cur- 
riculum of  the  old  type,  where  most  of  the  ideas 
presented  are  at  best  but  dear  to  most  students,  ^ 
is  not  so  much  the  great  harm  as  the  little  good 
it  does.  It  usually  fails  to  awaken  that  form 
of  mental  enthusiasm  which  stirs  up  the  active 
energies  of  the  soul,  which  makes  the  youth 
laugh  at  obstacles  and  rejoice  in  difficulties 
to  be  overcome. 

It  has  been  said  that  the  race  is  not  always  to 
the  swift,  nor  the  battle  to  the  strong,  but  to 
the  active,  the  vigilant,  and  the  brave.  This  is 
true  also  in  the  struggle  for  survival.  The 
active,  the  vigilant,  and  the  brave  survive ;  the 
inactive,  the  careless,  and  the  cowardly  do  not. 
Our  education,  therefore,  should  be  that  which 
tends  to  activity  rather  than  to  inactivity.  It 
should  promote  vigilance  in  observation  of  the 
things  that  conduce  to  survival.  It  should 
promote,  not  so  much  the  courage  of  the  battle- 
field, as  the  courage  that  gives  self-control  in 
the  use  of  the  wealth  an  industrial  society  pro- 
duces. 


78  INTEREST  AND   EDUCATION 

But  here  we  must  distinguish  between  the 
mental  activity  that  promotes  survival  and  that 
which  does  not.  The  education  of  outer  in- 
activity is  that  which  ignores  the  present  req- 
uisites for  survival  and  confines  itself  to  inner 
commotion.  A  tempest  in  a  teapot  may  be 
terrific,  but  the  world  neither  knows  nor  cares 
about  it.  One  may  then  be  actively  inactive 
in  education ;  as,  for  example,  when  one  teaches 
ancient  languages  as  if  they  were  still  the 
means  for  acquiring  and  expressing  ideas,  as 
they  once  were,  but  as  they  no  longer  are. 
Such  teaching  furnishes  modern  men  with 
archaic  instruments,  but  these  no  longer  assist 
them  to  survive.  Ideals  persist  in  education 
long  "after  they  are  obsolete  in  practice,  so  that 
forms  of  education  once  useful  to  the  race  now 
cease  to  promote  activity,  and  hence  have  lost 
their  power  to  promote  survival. 

Not  only  may  education  promote  passivity  by 
its  emphasis  upon  obsolete  ideals,  but,  as  ex- 
plained in  the  preceding  section,  by  failing  to 
distinguish  between  ideas  that  are  merely  clear 
and  those  that  are  both  clear  and  vivid.  Ideas 
are  clear  when  they  reveal  mere  differences  or 


EDUCATION,  INTEREST,  AND   SURVIVAL      79 

identities  in  the  things  considered;  they  are 
vivid  only  when  they  attach  themselves  to  per- 
ceivable requisites  for  survival.  For  example, 
the  idea  of  temperance  to  a  workman  as  a  moral 
conception  may  be  clear,  but  the  idea  of  tem- 
perance as  a  requisite  to  employment  as  a 
skilled  laborer  may  also  be  vivid.  Vivid  ideas 
glow  with  vital  interest,  because  upon  them 
turns  the  happiness  or  destiny  of  the  individ- 
ual. History,  mathematics,  languages,  science, 
may  be  so  taught  as  to  promote  mere  clearness 
of  conception  without  conducing  materially 
and  directly  to  survival,  thus  shedding  light 
without  generating  heat.  They  may,  on  the 
other  hand,  be  so  taught  as  to  reenforce  the 
other  influences  of  the  environment  by  making 
ideas  both  clear  and  vivid.  The  teacher  may 
in  vain  give  the  urchin  clear  ideas  about  the 
harmfulness  of  the  cigarette;  but  the  single 
vivid  idea  that  to  smoke  is  manly,  that  smoking 
enhances  his  importance  in  the  minds  of  other 
boys,  is  enough  to  make  him  search  the  gutter 
for  opportunity.  We  must  seek  to  counteract 
bad  vivid  ideas  with  those  that  are  good.  Chil- 
dren often  yield  to  injurious  vivid  ideas  because 


80  INTEREST   AND  EDUCATION 

of  their  nearness.  The  urchin  wants  to  seem 
manly  now,  so  he  puffs  and  struts.  If  the 
teacher  can  make  him  feel  that  he  is  sacrificing 
the  genuine  manliness  for  the  seeming,  his  affin- 
ity for  the  stump  in  the  gutter  will  not  be  so 
strong.  Boys  often  want  to  leave  school  early 
to  earn  the  bright  and  shining  dollar.  But  if 
they  can  be  led  to  compare  the  men  of  forty 
who  went  to  work  without  any  education  with 
those  who  acquired  an  education  before  going 
to  work,  the  delusive  vividness  of  immediate 
earnings  may  prove  less  effective. 

All  this  would  hold  with  the  school  as  it  is ; 
but  if  the  school  could  be  so  conducted  that 
the  pupil  could  feel  that  he  was  doing  things 
that  count  mightily  for  his  present  and  future 
welfare,  active  life  would  not,  as  now,  furnish 
a  monopoly  of  the  vivid  ideas,  and  hence  of  the 
abiding  interests.  It  is  not  enough,  therefore,  to 
promote  clear  ideas  in  our  pupils ;  we  must  attach 
J  ideas  to  the  pupils'  inherited  motor  mechanism. 
This  is  done  through  the  exercise  of  outgoing 
self-activity.  Mere  clearness  of  intellectual 
vision  does  not  make  men  efficient.  Each  group 
of  ideas  must  find  its  adequate  motor  expression, 


EDUCATION,  INTEREST,  AND  SURVIVAL     81 

not  only  with  the  tongue,  but  with  the  whole 
motor  mechanism.  There  must  be  writing  and 
drawing,  painting  and  moulding ;  there  must  be 
construction  in  material,  both  for  useful  and 
artistic  purposes;  the  active  or  industrial  arts 
should  precede  the  fine  arts.  The  latter  should 
cease  to  be  ends  in  themselves,  and  should  be 
embodied  in  the  useful.  So  long  as  art  is  a 
thing  apart,  the  artists  living  in  seclusion  and 
their  works  hanging  in  museums,  so  long  will 
it  fail  to  promote  the  activities  that  lead  to 
survival.  When  art  everywhere  promotes 
activity,  it  will  promote  life  by  sweetening  and 
adorning  it,  by  conducing  to  its  comfort  and 
peace. 

It  may  be  pertinent  to  ask  what  share  the 
community  is  taking  in  furthering  the  educa- 
tion that  conduces  to  survival.  Mr.  Ward  tells 
us  that  our  education  is  now  intrusted  to  young 
girls  and  feeble  men.1  To  this  we  may  properly 
demur,  for,  alas,  not  all  the  girls  are  young, 
neither,  we  trust,  are  all  the  men  feeble.  Yet 
the  fact  is  undeniable  that  the  more  passive 
part  of  the  community  does  the  teaching.  Sub- 
1  See  "  Dynamic  Sociology,"  vol.  ii,  p.  657. 
o 


82  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

jective  ideals  thrive  when  education  is  left  to 
quiet-loving  men  and  non-economic  women. 
The  modern  woman  teacher  frequently  knows 
no  work  but  that  of  the  school,  and  for  lack  of 
training  and  opportunity  cannot  induce  even 
those  expressive  activities  in  which  her  sex 
most  excel. 

The  education  that  would  promote  survival 
must  not  forget  to  inculcate  the  courage  that 
leads  to  self-control.  In  a  primitive  economy, 
it  is  the  underfed  that  fail  to  survive.  In  a 
highly  developed  industrial  organization  like 
our  own,  it  is  the  overfed  who  perish  most 
rapidly.  When  there  is  not  food  enough,  in 
such  countries  as  India  or  China,  war,  famine, 
and  disease  quickly  eliminate  the  underfed. 
But  in  a  country  like  our  own,  where  a  single 
state,  like  Illinois,  could  produce  food  enough 
for  the  whole  nation,  where  pestilence  can  get 
no  foothold  and  where  war  does  not  reduce  the 
population,  it  is  over-indulgence  in  food  and 
drink  that  causes  decrease  in  offspring,  and 
forces  men  into  lower  stations  of  life,  or  cuts 
short  the  number  of  their  days.  The  best 
preparation  the  school  can  furnish  is  to  give 


EDUCATION,  INTEREST,  AND   SURVIVAL      83 

the  young  clear  and  vivid  ideas  concerning  the 
forces  that  promote  or  hinder  survival,  to  give 
them  permanent  and  strong  interests  in  the 
realities  of  life,  and  to  provide  them  with  a 
trained  efficiency  that  scorns  debasing  tempta- 
tions and  rejoices  at  difficulties  to  be  sur- 
mounted. 

From  being  primitive  and  agricultural  this 
nation  has  become  urban  and  industrial.  Our 
population,  once  sparse,  is  now  becoming 
dense.  This  country,  formerly  capable  of 
supporting  perhaps  half  a  million  savages, 
has  now  become  able  to  support  a  hundred 
millions  of  civilized  men.  Another  hundred 
years  will  increase  its  supporting  power  by 
another  hundred  millions.  Our  youth  are  no 
longer  trained  to  efficiency  by  farm  and  forest, 
but  must  look  to  the  school  for  the  develop- 
ment of  their  powers.  If  our  education 
remains  in  its  subjective  and  introspective 
state ;  if  it  scorns  the  present  requisites  for 
survival,  while  cherishing  those  of  bygone  ; 
ages ;  if  it  attains  mere  clearness  of  concep- 
tion, but  cares  nothing  for  the  vividness  that 
comes  from  living  interests ;  if  the  community 


84  INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 

will  not  pay  for  virility  in  its  men  teachers  or 
give  proper  training  to  its  women  teachers  ;  if 
it  will  not  encourage  the  modern  spirit  by  fur- 
nishing modern  equipments,  —  then  education 
will  pursue  its  ancient  course,  causing  degen- 
eration in  some  and  failing  to  make  positive 
contributions  to  the  survival  of  many.  But 
if  community  and  teaching  force  alike  insist 
that  the  modern  requisites  for  survival  shall 
be  recognized  in  the  equipment  and  the 
teaching  of  the  school,  then  there  is  hope 
that  education  will  become  a  more  potent 
factor  than  it  ever  has  been  in  enabling  this 
nation  to  become  worthy  of  its  unrivalled  oppor- 
tunities. Nothing  but  ourselves  can  prevent 
our  country  from  becoming  the  world's  centre 
of  freedom,  well-being,  peace,  and  power; 
none  but  teachers  themselves  can  prevent  the 
school  from  performing  increasingly  useful 
work  in  furthering  these  ends. 


VII  ;r 

INTEREST,  MOTOR  TRAINING,  AND  THE 
MODERN  CITY  CHILD 

A  DISTINCTION  was  made  in  Section  V  be- 
tween clear  ideas  and  vivid  ideas.  Another 
aspect  of  the  same  distinction  is  that  between 
sensory  ideas  and  their  motor  reactions.  The 
underlying  physiological  fact  is  that  we  have 
two  systems  of  nerves,  one  carrying  sensory 
impressions  from  the  outside  world  to  the 
surface,  or  cortex,  of  the  brain,  the  other 
carrying  motor  impulses  from  the  cortex  to 
the  muscles.  It  is  through  the  sensations 
effected  by  the  sensory  system  that  ideas, 
knowledge,  and  thought  are  made  possible ; 
it  is  through  the  motor  system  that  men  can 
do  things,  can  so  adjust  themselves  to  their 
surroundings  as  to  survive.  Without  the 
extensive  development  of  the  sensory-intellec- 
tual side  of  the  mind,  men  would  still  be 
savage  or  primitive,  for  they  would  not  have 
85 


86  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

scientific  knowledge  enough  to  enable  them 
to  understand  the  nature  of  the  forces  around 
them.  They  would  still  turn  everything  that 
could  harm  or  help  into  demons  or  gods, 
they  would  dwell  in  poverty  and  ignorance, 
with  little  more  than  animal  satisfactions  and 
animal  fate.  Without  the  development  of  the 
intellectual-motor  phases  of  mind,  men  would 
have  been  unable  to  use  their  knowledge 
effectively  in  protecting  themselves  against 
the  destructive  forces  of  nature.  The  thinker 
would  perhaps  be  wearing  skin  clothing, 
and  living  in  a  wigwam  or  a  bamboo  hut. 
But  when  both  sides  of  the  mind  are  highly 
developed,  we  find  science  and  motor  capac- 
ity happily  united,  so  that  the  thinker  may 
dwell  in  marble  halls  and  be  clad  in  garments 
of  beauty  and  comfort.  He  may  converse  with 
his  absent  friends,  for  though  sundered  far  by 
land  or  sea,  he  may  yet  speak  with  them  as  if 
face  to  face. 

The  great  and  abiding  interests  of  life 
cluster  about  those  activities  that  conduce 
to  survival,  that  have  most  immediate  refer- 
ence to  vital  adjustment  to  the  environment. 


INTEREST  AND  MOTOR  TRAINING  87 

The  mass  of  mankind  are  not  interested  in 
knowledge  that  is  unrelated  to  their  chief 
life  purposes,  however  intrinsically  beautiful 
or  valuable  it  may  be.  If  knowledge  can 
be  turned  to  account,  it  is  worth  consider- 
ing ;  but  if  it  is  remote  from  the  life  at 
hand,  it  will  not  excite  vivid  interest,  though 
it  may  arouse  curiosity.  As  it  is  with 
adults,  so  it  is  with  children.  The  things 
that  excite  abiding  mental  enthusiasm  relate 
to  the  things  that  seem  to  them  important. 
They,  it  is  true,  are  not  yet  concerned  with 
the  serious  struggle  for  economic  existence, 
but  their  natures  are  ever  seeking  expression 
in  various  forms  of  activity. 

It  is  an  almost  irresistible  tendency  of  the 
school  to  lay  the  chief  stress  of  its  efforts 
upon  the  sensory-intellectual  side  of  the  mind, 
using  outgoing  expression  only  so  far  as  the 
acquisition  of  knowledge  or  the  drilling  of 
the  mind  necessitates.  A  few  motor  reactions 
are  used,  such  as  the  use  of  the  organs  of  speech 
in  reciting  (except  when  the  teacher  does  all 
the  talking),  and  that  of  the  hand  in  writ- 
ing. But  ordinarily  there  is  no  free  creative 


88  INTEREST  AND   EDUCATION 

use  of  the  larger  fundamental  muscles,  or  any 
adequate  variety  in  the  use  of  the  smaller  ac- 
cessory muscles.  It  is  evident,  therefore,  that 
v  the  greatest  sources  of  interest  in  the  young 
remain  almost  untouched  by  the  school,  since 
the  intellectual-motor  aspects  of  the  mind  are 
practically  ignored.  This  remark  is  made,  not 
as  a  reproach  to  teachers,  but  as  the  state- 
ment of  a  fact  that  needs  serious  attention  in 
the  future.  The  schools  are  to-day  largely  the 
result  of  forces  over  which  the  teacher  has 
had  little  control.  With  the  perception  of 
new  needs,  and  changing,  or  at  least  change- 
able, circumstances,  we  may  hope  for  a  differ- 
ent order  of  things. 

It  is  announced  that  there  is  no  longer  a 
frontier  of  civilization  in  America.  For  four 
hundred  years  there  has  been  one.  Not  only 
has  there  been  a  frontier  all  this  time,  but 
nearly  the  whole  of  our  vast  country  has 
remained  under  frontier  or  pioneer  conditions 
up  to  within  the  recollection  of  men  now  living. 
Everybody  lived  in  the  country  or  under  country 
conditions,  and  participated  therefore,  more 
or  less  intimately,  in  those  primary  activities 


INTEREST  AND  MOTOR  TRAINING  89 

that  relate  closely  to  immediate  or  prospective 
livelihood.  There  was  a  rough  but  effective 
division  of  labor  between  the  home  and  the 
school.  The  home  trained  the  intellectual- 
motor,  and  the  school  the  sensory-intellectual, 
powers.  But  now  the  city  has  come,  and 
with  its  coming  the  old  motor  training  has 
departed,  leaving  little  or  nothing  of  educa- 
tive value  in  its  place  for  the  city  child. 

Can  education  restore  to  him  the  intellectual- 
motor  training  once  so  effectively  furnished  by 
the  country  ?  The  answer  to  this  question  must 
be  considered  at  some  length. 

It  were  long  to  tell  what  advantages  are 
gained  by  an  urban  life.  The  growth  of  the 
city  is  a  necessary  consequence  of  the  transi- 
tion from  an  agricultural  to  an  industrial 
civilization.  England  first  began  the  process, 
and  her  example  has  been  rapidly  followed  by 
France,  Germany,  Austria,  Italy,  and  by  our 
own  United  States.  A  hundred  years  ago  but 
three  per  cent  of  our  population  lived  in  cities, 
now  at  least  half  of  the  people  east  of  the 
Alleghanies  live  under  urban  conditions.  The 
boundaries  of  the  great  state  of  New  York 


90  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

have  not  been  shortened,  yet  the  time  will 
soon  be  when  seventy-five  per  cent  of  her 
population  will  cease  to  be  rural.  A  world 
process  of  such  magnitude  would  have  been 
impossible  had  the  advantages  of  industrial 
development  not  greatly  outweighed  those  of 
the  old  system.  Almost  everything  that  con- 
tributes most  to  our  personal  and  national 
advancement  is  due  to  this  change.  Education, 
social  intercourse,  wealth,  high  standards  of 
life,  joined  to  indefinite  expansion  in  popula- 
tion, industrial  supremacy,  national  unity  of 
purpose,  —  all  these  belong  in  greatest  measure 
to  the  industrial  urban  state.  Yet  with  all 
these  unquestioned  gains  there  are  large  and 
often  permanent  losses  involved  in  the  change 
from  rural  to  urban  life.  Some  of  these  losses 
are  inevitable,  some  are  remediable.  The  city 
must  forego  the  free  uncontaminated  air  of 
the  country ;  it  must  do  without  the  country's 
quiet,  its  open  stretches  of  field  and  meadow, 
its  tree-lined  streams,  the  low  of  kine,  and 
the  song  of  bird.  It  is  only  in  our  brief 
vacations  that  we  are  enabled  to  enjoy  what 
was  once  our  permanent  heritage.  But  there 


INTEREST  AND   MOTOR  TRAINING  91 

are  also  serious  educative  losses  that  have 
arisen  in  the  modern  city.  These  we  must 
now  consider. 

The  programme  of  elementary  education  in 
America  before  the  rise  of  large  cities  consisted 
of  two  parts :  first,  training  in  muscular  power 
and  practical  efficiency  through  diversified 
labor;  and  second,  discipline  of  the  mind 
through  drill  in  mastering  the  elements  of  knowl- 
edge as  represented  in  reading,  writing,  arith- 
metic, and  grammar.  To  these  we  may  add 
healthful  and  almost  unrestricted  opportunities 
for  such  play  as  a  strenuous  life  permitted. 

An  urban  community  is  likely  to  overlook 
the  educational  value  of  richly  diversified  labor. 
Not  a  little  of  the  versatility,  the  individual 
initiative,  the  aggressiveness  and  general  effi- 
ciency of  the  urban  business  or  professional  man 
has  been  due  to  the  early  discipline  of  farm 
life. 

What  can  a  country  boy  of  fifteen  do  ?  Here 
is  what  Mr.  Elbert  Hubbard  in  his  Philistine 
says  he  himself  could  do  at  that  age :  — 

"  When  I  was  fifteen  years  of  age  I  could 
break  wild  horses  to  saddle  or  harness,  and 


92  INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 

teach  kicking  cows  to  stand  while  they  were 
being  milked.  I  could  fell  trees,  and  drop  the 
tree  in  any  direction  desired;  I  knew  the  rela- 
tive value  of  all  native  woods,  appreciated  the 
differences  in  soil,  grains,  fruits,  and  simple 
minerals.  I  could  use  the  draw-shave,  adze,  axe, 
broadaxe,  cross-cut  saw,  sickle,  and  cradle.  I 
could  make  a  figure-four  trap,  an  axe  helve,  a 
neck-yoke,  ox-yoke,  whiffletree,  clevis,  and  could 
braid  an  eight-strand  cattle  whip.  We  used  to 
mend  our  harness  on  rainy  days,  and  I  could 
make  a  wax-end  and  thread  it  with  a  bristle, 
and  use  a  brad-awl.  I  knew  how  to  construct 
an  ash-leach  and  to  make  soft  soap,  apple  butter, 
and  pumpkin  pies.  I  knew  the  process  of  weav- 
ing flax  and  wool,  of  making  and  burning  brick. 
I  knew  on  sight,  and  had  names  for  a  score  or 
more  of  birds,  and  had  a  good  idea  of  the  habits 
of  squirrels,  skunks,  wolves,  and  the  fishes  that 
swam  in  the  creeks.  I  knew  how  to  cure  hams, 
shoulders,  and  sidemeat;  to  pickle  beef,  and 
cover  apples  with  straw  and  earth  so  that  they 
would  keep  in  safety  through  the  most  severe 
winter,  and  open  up  in  the  spring  fresh  and 
valuable.  Of  course  my  knowledge  was  not  of 


INTEREST  AND  MOTOR  TRAINING  93 

a  scientific  order,  and  I  could  not  have  explained 
it  to  another,  because  I  never  knew  I  had  it." 

When  to  all  this  we  add  the  training  that 
comes  from  managing  farm  animals  and  tools, 
from  overcoming  extraordinary  difficulties  in 
field  and  forest,  from  dogged  persistence  in 
work,  beginning  before  the  rise  and  ending  only 
after  the  setting  of  the  sun,  we  may  appreciate 
to  some  extent  the  perfect  coordination  of 
muscle  and  mind  effected  by  such  labor,  and 
understand  the  fertility  of  resource  and  the  un- 
tiring persistence  in  the  accomplishment  of  ends 
that  such  labor  produces.  Furthermore,  among 
thrifty  farmers,  where  pleasures  were  simple 
but  hearty,  where  food  was  good  and  abundant, 
the  nerves  of  the  young  were  steady,  the  brain 
was  clear,  even  if  not  especially  active,  and  the 
digestion  was  perfect.  All  life,  in  short,  though 
uneventful,  was  at  least  wholesome,  and  in  a 
large  measure  educative  in  the  highest  sense.  It 
was  only  when  this  training  was  continued  too 
long  that  it  led  to  arrested  development.  The 
country  boys  who  make  great  successes  in  the 
city  leave  the  farm  before  physical  labor  sinks 
into  benumbing  routine. 


94  INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 

What  educative  influences  do  our  children 
lose  when  we  become  denizens  of  a  large  city  ? 
At  least  three  important  ones:  viz.,  first, 
early  opportunity  to  work  under  healthful 
and  varying  conditions;  second,  variety  in 
work  after  the  period  of  elementary  educa- 
tion; and  third,  opportunity  for  free,  health- 
giving  play. 

The  children  of  the  poor  are  not  allowed  to 
work  steadily  until  they  have  passed  through 
the  elementary  school,  usually  not  before  the 
age  of  fourteen,  while  the  children  of  the 
well-to-do  never  work  at  all  until  they  have 
finished  the  high  school,  and  in  many  cases 
even  the  college  itself.  Such  children  are 
mostly  lacking  in  the  deftness  of  hand  and 
the  readiness  of  invention  that  characterized 
their  fathers.  Their  nerves  are  often  unsteady, 
the  coordination  of  muscle  and  mind  is  imper- 
fect, and  digestion  is  defective.  Often  their 
minds  are  overstimulated  by  exciting  books  or 
theatres  or  other  forms  of  intensive  life.  The 
girls  early  and  easily  tend  toward  nervous 
delicacy  or  disease ;  while  the  boys,  especially 
if  they  fall  into  vice,  become  blasg  at  an  early 


INTEREST  AND   MOTOR   TRAINING  95 

age,  and  in  general  fail  to  manifest  the  virility 
of  their  progenitors. 

Even  when  the  period  of  steady  labor  ar- 
rives, the  city  boy  lacks  the  variety  that  gives 
vitality  to  the  country  lad.  Routine  drives 
out  spontaneity  and  opportunity  for  individual 
initiative.  Industries  are  now  highly  differ- 
entiated, so  that  one  workman  is  usually  called 
upon  to  do  but  a  single  kind  of  work  for 
long  stretches  of  time.  Compare  the  man 
who  once  made  a  whole  watch  with  the  man 
who  now  tends  the  machines  that  turn  the 
pivots,  or  the  youth  who  does  a  dozen  kinds 
of  work  with  a  spirited  team  with  the  one 
who  picks  slate  on  a  coal  breaker.  The  men- 
tal life,  once  stimulated  by  labor,  must  in 
the  main  now  find  its  stimulus  outside  of 
labor.  Certain  qualities  of  endurance  and 
persistence  will  always  be  cultivated  by  con- 
tinuous work,  but  under  modern  urban  con- 
ditions labor  lacks  much  of  the  old  educative 
value. 

A  modern  high  school  lad,  when  told  that 
he  lacked  the  discipline  that  comes  from 
diversified  work,  replied,  "What's  the  odds, 


96  INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 

so  you  are  strong?"  To  a  certain  extent  he 
was  right  in  his  reply;  for,  being  a  prominent 
member  of  a  football  eleven,  and  an  all-round 
athlete  in  a  boyish  way,  he  had  gained  a  cer- 
tain efficiency  not  unlike  that  of  the  country 
boy  of  the  same  age.  But  city  children  have 
for  the  most  part  lost  opportunity  to  play. 
In  the  older  cities  in  Germany  the  children 
have  forgotten  how,  that  is,  have  racially  for- 
gotten. Their  idea  of  a  recess  is  a  promenade 
over  the  cobblestones  of  a  schoolyard,  while 
munching  black  bread  and  Wurst.  Our  city 
children  are  fast  approaching  a  like  condition. 
The  most  pitiful  sight  in  the  city  to  one 
accustomed  to  the  open  country  is  the  pathetic 
effort  of  children  to  play  in  a  narrow,  crowded 
street.  To  play  a  vigorous  game  is  to  risk 
life,  to  obstruct  the  walks  or  break  the  win- 
dows, while  to  wrestle  on  the  pavement  is 
to  break  the  bones.  The  thumb  in  a  game 
of  marbles  is  about  the  only  organ  that  is 
afforded  unrestrained  exercise.  Were  it  not 
for  the  annual  summer  excursions  to  country, 
mountain,  and  seashore,  made  by  wealthy  fami- 
lies, the  city  boy  would  be  in  danger  of  find- 


INTEREST  AND  MOTOR  TRAINING  97 

ing  many  of  his  important  organs  almost  as 
useless  as  the  vermiform  appendix. 

Can  education  in  whole  or  in  part  make  up 
to  the  child  for  that  loss  of  wholesome  educa- 
tional influences  that  ensued  when  his  grand- 
parents or  his  parents  became  residents  of  a 
city?  First  of  all,  we  need  to  examine  the 
adequacy  of  city  schools  as  at  present  consti- 
tuted to  this  end. 

The  modern  city  child  has  much  more  time 
for  school  than  his  predecessor  in  rural  life 
had.  Formerly  a  boy  attended  school  three 
or  four  months  of  the  year,  and  was  employed 
mostly  in  out-of-door  labor  the  remainder  of 
the  time.  The  city  boy  is  in  school  from  nine 
to  ten  months  each  year.  The  country  lad 
had  many  chores  to  do  night  and  morning, 
even  when  he  went  to  school;  but  the  city 
boy,  having  no  physical  work  to  do,  is  sent 
home  with  a  lot  of  school  tasks,  which  abridge 
his  daylight  recreation  and  infringe  on  his 
hours  for  indoor  amusement  or  sleep. 

Again,  when  life  was  furnishing  the  major 
part  of  education  in  healthful,  mind-stimulating 
labor,  the  school  perhaps  did  well  to  confine 


INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 

its  brief  labors  to  routine  work  in  mastering 
the  elementary  tools  of  knowledge.  Then 
children  learned  to  read,  but  they  seldom  read 
anything;  they  learned  to  write  and  spell  and 
parse ;  but  they  made  little  or  no  use  of  these 
accomplishments,  except  in  the  rare  cases  when 
the  lad  went  to  college.  It  might  be  sup- 
posed that  now,  when  the  school  commands, 
not  a  bare  fraction,  but  practically  the  whole 
of  the  time  of  the  children  for  years,  it  would 
do  much  more  than  enable  them  to  acquire 
the  tools  of  knowledge.  To  a  certain  extent 
it  does,  for  children  now  read  during  a  por- 
tion of  the  time  they  formerly  used  to  work 
or  play.  They  get  a  smattering,  too,  of  his- 
tory and  geography,  and  sometimes  they  learn 
to  love  nature.  But,  on  the  whole,  if  we  ask 
what  the  school  is  doing  for  the  urban  child 
under  modern  conditions,  we  must  answer  that, 
for  the  most  part,  it  is  merely  doing  more  of 
what  it  used  to  do  when  life  itself  was  the 
larger  part  of  education. 

A  few  facts  will  help  to  explain  why  the 
school  has  remained  practically  unchanged, 
though  outside  influences  have  been  totally 


INTEREST   AND   MOTOR   TRAINING  99 

altered.  In  the  first  place,  we  have  thought 
ourselves  unable  to  pay  the  salaries  necessary 
to  secure  even  a  reasonable  number  of  strong 
men,  and  have  in  consequence  employed  almost 
exclusively  women,  whose  services  may  be  had 
for  little  money.  Outside  the  larger  cities,  no 
men  teach  in  elementary  schools,  while  even 
In  high  schools  the  number  of  men  teachers 
"3  constantly  decreasing.  In  New  York  State 
only  about  one-third  of  the  high  school  teachers 
are  men.  The  money  prizes  are  too  small  to 
induce  men  to  abandon  those  callings  and  pro- 
fessions that  fascinate  the  strong  man,  giving 
him  a  field  for  the  exercise  of  his  limitless 
energy  and  ambition.  Not  until  the  oppor- 
tunity for  men  of  enterprise  in  other  fields 
becomes  much  less  than  it  is,  shall  we  find 
American  men  devoting  themselves  to  educa- 
tion at  the  pittance  paid  to  German  men 
teachers,  or  now  paid  to  our  women  teachers. 
But  the  modern  woman  teacher  is  far  less 
efficient  than  she  might  be,  for  she  has  rarely 
been  taught  to  work.  All  her  time  from  child- 
hood onward  has  been  spent  in  the  absorption 
of  knowledge.  There  has  been  no  time  for 


100  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

the  acquisition  of  efficiency  and  skill  in  labor. 
How  many  teachers  in  city  schools  have  been 
trained  to  be  expert  in  any  domestic  or  fine 
art,  such  as  cooking,  millinery,  embroidery, 
dressmaking,  painting,  designing  and  decorat- 
ing, wood  carving,  modelling,  or  even  music  ? 
Some  have  indeed  acquired  more  or  less  skill 
in  one  or  more  of  these  arts,  but  they  do  not 
owe  it  to  their  school  education.  This  criti- 
cism is  not  a  reproach  to  the  teacher,  but  only 
to  the  system  that  consumes  all  her  energy  in 
absorbing  facts  to  pour  out  in  examinations. 
Living  under  a  system  that  insists  on  knowing 
everything,  but  in  doing  nothing,  our  women 
teachers  have  small  chance  to  contribute  to 
that  phase  of  mental  training  that  secures 
adequate  motor  expression  for  ideas,  and  thus 
appeals  to  the  most  fundamental  and  abiding 
sources  of  interest. 

Again,  not  only  do  we  employ  women  alone 
as  elementary  teachers,  but  we  hire  so  few  of 
them  that  only  those  forms  of  education  that 
can  be  made  successful  by  mass  teaching  have 
any  considerable  chance  of  being  made  really 
effective.  But  it  is  precisely  the  old  drill 


INTEREST  AND  MOTOR  TRAINING          101 

in  reading,  spelling,  writing,  arithmetic,  and 
grammar  that  yields  the  best  results  in  mass 
work.  The  subjects  call  for  much  memoriz- 
ing, but  demand  little  individual  thinking. 
One  teacher  can  keep  many  pupils  busy  in 
spelling  and  writing  words,  in  solving  prob- 
lems and  diagramming  sentences ;  but  where 
classes  number  from  thirty-five  to  sixty,  as 
they  do,  a  study  that  demands  individual 
thought  and  guidance  in  the  case  of  each 
pupil  has  small  chance  of  being  successfully 
taught. 

Not  only  are  teachers  so  few  that  teaching 
must  be  restricted  mostly  to  mass  drill,  but 
each  teacher  is  assigned  to  a  limited  drill  area, 
called  a  grade.  This  custom,  though  having 
its  advantages,  tends  still  further  to  mechanize 
the  instruction,  to  narrow  the  teacher's  view,, 
to  dry  up  her  larger  sympathies,  to  starve 
out  the  enthusiasms  with  which  she  started. 
Superintendent  Greenwood  gives  the  grade 
teacher  only  from  three  to  five  years,  before 
the  mind  begins  to  settle  and  harden  into 
grooves,  and  the  activities  to  fall  into  routine. 
The  minds  of  such  cease  to  grow.  They 


102  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

become  like  cisterns  which  have  periodically 
to  be  refilled  at  summer  schools  or  by  a  term 
of  graduate  work.  Minds  of  this  type,  to 
change  the  figure,  come  to  the  university  as 
to  an  educational  repair  shop. 

From  the  foregoing  considerations  it  is  very 
evident  that  education  as  now  conducted  does 
not  restore  what  urban  life  has  lost  in  edu- 
cational influence.  The  city  boy  or  girl  is 
probably  as  well  educated  as  present  condi- 
tions will  allow,  but  city  conditions  should 
change  as  much  in  the  educational  field  as 
they  have  changed  in  that  of  business.  Any 
city  that  is  rich  enough  to  build  palaces  for 
dwelling  and  business  purposes,  to  afford  pave- 
ments and  streets  that  neither  frost  nor  heat, 
rain  nor  traffic,  can  destroy,  to  make  midnight 
seem  as  midday,  is  able  to  raise  its  expendi- 
tures for  education  to  a  point  where  it  is 
possible  to  give  the  children  a  training  that 
will  enable  body  and  brain  to  withstand  the 
abnormal  strains  of  city  life,  and  to  keep  alive 
those  traits  of  character  that  have  made  our 
i  nation  in  the  past  strong  to  endure  and  to 
achieve. 


INTEREST   AND  MOTOR   TRAINING         103 

The  most  urgent  need  of  the  city  child  is 
physical  educative  work  and  spontaneous  play. 
It  would  be  difficult  to  say  which  is  the  more 
important.  The  English  know  how  to  turn 
out  an  efficient  man  by  combining  fifteenth 
century  instruction  with  modern  play.  The 
instruction  of  the  boys  of  the  upper  classes  in 
that  country  has  long  been  of  that  curious 
type.  Their  minds  are  drilled  in  the  classics 
by  methods  and  for  reasons  which  were  indeed 
valid  when  these  languages  were  the  means 
for  getting  and  for  expressing  ideas;  but  now 
that  Latin  is  no  longer  studied  for  such  pur- 
poses, the  old  reasons  for  its  study  and  the 
old  methods  for  teaching  it  are  obsolete. 
Nothing  is  more  antique  than  the  instruction 
of  English  boys  in  the  so-called  public  schools. 
Their  play,  however,  makes  men  of  them,  Mr. 
Kipling  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding.1  It 
gives  them  efficiency  to  fight  their  country's 
battles,  to  spread  her  commerce  over  the  whole 
earth,  to  rule  inferior  people  to  their  own 
good,  to  found  and  develop  new  nations.  Let 
us  read  a  few  pages  of  "  Tom  Brown's  School 

1       O 

1  See  his  poem,  ««  The  Islanders." 


104  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

Days,"  to  show  the  possibilities  of  a  game  with 
more  than  a  hundred  on  a  side :  — 

"But  now  Griffith's  baskets  are  empty,  the 
ball  is  placed  again  midway,  and  the  school 
are  going  to  kick  off.  Their  leaders  have 
sent  their  lumber  into  goal,  and  rated  the  rest 
soundly,  and  one  hundred  and  twenty  picked 
players-up  are  there,  bent  on  retrieving  the 
game.  They  are  to  keep  the  ball  in  front  of 
the  Schoolhouse  goal,  and  then  to  drive  it  in 
by  sheer  strength  and  weight.  They  mean 
heavy  play  and  no  mistake,  and  so  old  Brooke 
sees;  and  places  Crab  Jones  in  quarters  just 
before  the  goal,  with  four  or  five  picked 
players,  who  are  to  keep  the  ball  away  to  the 
sides,  where  a  try  at  goal,  if  obtained,  will  be 
less  dangerous  than  in  front.  He,  himself,  and 
Warner  and  Hedge,  who  have  saved  them- 
selves till  now,  will  lead  the  charges.  'Are 
you  ready?'  'Yes.'  And  away  comes  the 
ball,  kicked  high  in  the  air,  to  give  the  school 
time  to  rush  on  and  catch  it  as  it  falls.  And 
here  they  are  amongst  us.  Meet  them  like 
Englishmen,  you  schoolboys,  and  charge  them 
home.  Now  is  the  time  to  show  what  real 


INTEREST   AND  MOTOR   TRAINING         105 

metal  is  in  you  —  and  there  shall  be  a  warm 
seat  by  the  hall  fire,  and  honor  and  lots  of 
bottled  beer  to-night,  for  him  who  does  his 
duty  in  the  next  half-hour.  And  they  are 
well  met.  Again  and  again  the  cloud  of  their 
players-up  gathers  before  our  goal,  and  comes 
threatening  on,  and  Warner  and  Hedge,  with 
young  Brooke  and  the  relics  of  the  Bull-dogs, 
break  through  and  carry  the  ball  back  ;  and 
old  Brooke  ranges  the  field  like  Job's  war- 
horse,  the  thickest  scrummage  parts  asunder 
before  his  rush,  like  the  waves  before  the 
clipper's  bows ;  his  cheery  voice  rings  over  the 
field,  and  his  eye  is  everywhere.  And  if  these 
miss  the  ball,  and  it  rolls  dangerously  in  front 
of  our  goal,  Crab  Jones  and  his  men  have 
seized  it  and  sent  it  towards  the  sides  with  the 
unerring  drop-kick.  This  is  worth  living  for ; 
the  whole  sum  of  schoolboy  existence  gathered 
up  into  one  straining,  struggling  half-hour,  a 
half-hour  worth  a  year  of  common  life. 

"  The  quarter  to  five  has  struck,  and  the  play 
slackens  for  a  minute  before  goal ;  but  there  is 
Crew  the  artful  dodger,  driving  the  ball  in 
behind  our  goal,  on  the  island  side,  where  our 


106  INTEREST   AND  EDUCATION 

quarters  are  weakest.  Is  there  no  one  to  meet 
him?  Yes  !  look  at  little  East !  the  ball  is  just 
at  equal  distance  between  the  two,  and  they 
rush  together,  the  young  man  of  seventeen,  and 
the  boy  of  twelve,  and  kick  it  at  the  same  mo- 
ment. Crew  passes  on  without  a  stagger ;  East 
is  hurled  forward  by  the  shock,  and  plunges  on 
his  shoulders,  as  if  he  would  bury  himself  in  the 
ground ;  but  the  ball  rises  straight  into  the  air, 
and  falls  behind  Crew's  back,  while  the  "  bravos  " 
of  the  Schoolhouse  attest  the  pluckiest  charge  of 
all  that  hard-fought  day.  Warner  picks  East 
up,  lame  and  half  stunned,  and  he  hobbles  into 
goal  conscious  of  having  played  the  man. 

"  And  now  the  last  minutes  are  come,  and 
the  school  gather  for  their  last  rush,  every  boy 
of  the  hundred  and  twenty  who  has  a  run  left 
in  him.  Reckless  of  the  defence  of  their  own 
goal,  on  they  come  across  the  level  big-side 
ground,  the  ball  well  down  amongst  them, 
straight  for  our  goal,  like  the  column  of  the 
Old  Guard  up  the  slope  of  Waterloo.  All 
former  charges  have  been  child's  play  to  this. 
Warner  and  Hedge  have  met  them,  but  still  on 
they  come.  The  Bull-dogs  rush  in  for,  the  last 


INTEREST   AND   MOTOR   TRAINING         107 

time;  they  are  hurled  over  or  carried  back, 
striving  hand,  foot,  and  eyelids.  Old  Brooke 
comes  sweeping  round  the  skirts  of  the  play, 
and  turning  short  round,  picks  out  the  very 
heart  of  the  scrummage,  and  plunges  in.  It 
wavers  for  a  moment  —  he  has  the  ball !  No, 
it  has  passed  him,  and  his  voice  rings  out  clear 
over  the  advancing  tide,  4  Look  out  in  goal ! ' 
Crab  Jones  catches  it  for  a  moment ;  but  before 
he  can  kick,  the  rush  is  upon  him  and  passes  over 
him;  and  he  picks  himself  up  behind  them  with 
his  straw  in  his  mouth,  a  little  dirtier,  but  as  cool 
as  ever. 

"  The  ball  rolls  slowly  in  behind  the  School- 
house  goal  and  not  three  yards  in  front  of  a 
dozen  of  the  biggest  School  players-up. 

"  There  stands  the  Schoolhouse  prseposter, 
safest  of  goal  keepers,  and  Tom  Brown  by  his 
side,  who  has  learned  his  trade  by  this  time. 
Now  is  your  time,  Tom.  The  blood  of  all  the 
Browns  is  up,  and  the  two  rush  in  together, 
and  throw  themselves  on  the  ball,  under  the 
very  feet  of  the  advancing  column ;  the  prse- 
poster  on  his  hands  and  knees,  arching  his  back, 
and  Tom  all  along  on  his  face.  Over  them 


108  INTEEBST  AND   EDUCATION 

topple  the  leaders  of  the  rush,  shooting  over 
the  back  of  the  praeposter,  but  falling  flat  on 
Tom,  and  knocking  all  the  wind  out  of  his  small 
carcass.  '  Our  ball,'  says  the  praeposter,  rising 
with  his  prize  ;  'but  get  up  there,  there's  a 
little  fellow  under  you.'  They  are  hauled  and 
roll  off  him,  and  Tom  is  discovered,  a  motion- 
less body. 

"  Old  Brooke  picks  him  up.  '  Stand  back,  give 
him  air,'  he  says ;  and  then,  feeling  his  limbs, 
adds,  'No  bones  broken.  How  do  you  feel, 
young  'un  ? '  '  Hah-hah,'  gasps  Tom,  as  his 
wind  comes  back,  '  pretty  well,  thank  you  —  all 
right.' 

"'Who  is  he?'  says  Brooke.  'Oh,  it's 
Brown ;  he's  a  new  boy ;  I  know  him,'  says 
East,  coming  up. 

'"Well,  he  is  a  plucky  youngster,  and  will 
make  a  player,'  says  Brooke. 

"  And  five  o'clock  strikes.  '  No  side,'  is 
called,  and  the  first  day  of  the  Schoolhouse 
match  is  over." 

This  is  the  training  that  makes  Englishmen. 
They  might  study  Choctaw  or  Chinese  and  the 
mathematics  of  Ahmes,  yet  with  such  play  they 


INTEREST   AND   MOTOR   TRAINING          109 

would  grow  up  to  be  men.  Our  high  and 
grammar  school  athletics  should  abandon,  or  at 
least  subordinate,  the  college  type  of  play, 
which  admits  of  but  small  teams  of  picked 
players,  and  adopt  or  adapt  those  English  types 
that  give  every  boy  a  chance.  What  has  proved 
so  life-giving  for  character  and  efficiency  among 
an  English  class  whose  luxuries  would  naturally 
tend  toward  their  degeneration,  teaches  a  lesson 
to  modern  urban  communities,  where  almost 
every  influence  tends  toward  decline  in  health 
and  motor  efficiency. 

It  is,  however,  to  the  element  of  physical 
educative  work  that  we  must  give  our  chief 
attention.  The  ideal  city  education  will  main- 
tain a  just  balance  between  intellectual  and 
practical,  or  motor,  phases  of  life.  At  present  { 
it  is  all  intellectual,  or  sensory,  not  at  all  motor, 
or  practical.  It  was  the  farm  that  formerly 
supplied  the  motor  training;  now,  when  there 
is  tenfold  need  of  such  training,  it  is  forgotten. 
The  first  requisite  for  such  a  new  education  as 
will  conserve  old  powers  is  that  there  be  teachers 
enough  for  the  individual  to  be  taught  in  a  group 
small  enough  to  secure  his  best  development  of 


110  INTEREST    AND   EDUCATION 

mind  and  body.  No  teacher  should  have  more 
than  twenty  pupils.  This  will,  indeed,  double 
the  number  of  teachers,  but  it  will  at  the  same 
time  secure  for  each  child  the  indispensable 
requisites  for  his  survival  and  his  highest 
efficiency  in  life. 

The  second  essential  requisite  of  such  educa- 
tion is  that  the  proper  appliances  for  motor  and 
intellectual  training  be  provided  in  abundance. 
This  will  mean  somewhat  more  room  and  more 
apparatus  of  an  inexpensive  sort. 

The  school  cannot,  it  is  true,  furnish  the 
experience  of  farm  -  or  factory,  but  it  can  do 
better  than  either,  for  it  can  grade  its  motor 
exercises  to  their  highest  educative  value.  The 
milking  of  cows  may  be  educative  for  a  few 
months,  or  until  all  its  phases  are  mastered ;  but 
it  can  hardly  be  more  educative  when  continued 
through  life.  So  of  every  phase  of  industrial 
occupation.  It  soon  passes  its  limit  of  useful- 
ness, soon  comes  to  a  point  where  it  ceases  to 
be  education  and  becomes  drudgery. 

The  school,  happily,  has  control  of  experi- 
ence, which  it  can  press  to  its  highest  point 
of  usefulness,  but  never  suffer  to  lead  to 


INTEREST   AND   MOTOR   TRAINING          111 

arrested  development.  It  can  introduce  even 
at  the  earliest  moment  motor  exercises  that 
have  all  the  stimulating  power  of  real  situa- 
tions in  life,  for  they,  too,  are  real.  In  the 
kindergarten  grades  of  Dr.  Dewey's  school  in 
Chicago,  for  instance,  children  three  or  four 
years  of  age  have  lessons  in  cooking,  and 
actually  cook  food  that  they  and  their  friends 
eat  as  a  part  of  their  daily  subsistence.  Be- 
ginning at  this  tender  age,  the  children,  in 
groups  of  ten  or  a  dozen,  are  led  year  after 
year  through  well-graded  exercises  in  cooking 
and  sewing  for  the  girls,  shop  work  for  the 
boys,  and  textile  and  other  industries  for 
both,  all  of  which  are  intimately  related  in 
the  minds  of  the  children  to  the  past  and 
present  of  these  activities  in  the  community, 
and  all  likewise  serving  as  means  for  the  mas- 
tery of  number  and  language. 

The  years  from  nine  or  ten  to  fourteen  or  fif- 
teen are  the  most  important  for  motor  training. 
President  G.  Stanley  Hall  says 1  of  this  period :  — 

"  The  hand  is  in  a  sense  never  so  near  the 

1  "The  Ideal  School  as  based  on  Child  Study,"  Proceed- 
ings  of  the  National  Educational  Association,  1901,  p.  481. 


112  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

brain  as  now;  knowledge  never  so  strongly 
tends  to  become  practical;  muscular  develop- 
ment never  so  conditions  mental.  Muscle 
training  of  every  kind,  from  play  up  to 
manual  work,  must  now  begin.  Instead  of 
having  the  Swedish  or  other  curriculized  and 
exactly  finished  objects  made,  we  should  have 
a  curriculum  of  toys  at  first  and  of  rude 
scientific  apparatus  later,  where  everything 
will  focus  more  upon  the  ulterior  use  of  the 
object  than  upon  the  process  of  making  it. 
All  these  things  will  be  chosen  from  the 
field  of  the  child's  interests." 

If  the  training  is  to  be  more  than  a  senti- 
ment, it  must  come  every  day,  and  must  be 
closely  articulated  with  the  other  work.  Its 
spirit  must  permeate  all  the  work  of  the 
school.  No  study  must  leave  the  child  in  a 
state  of  passive  receptivity. 

Outside  of  mere  memoriter  drill,  one  may 
fairly  say  that  intellectual  absorption  is  the 
chief  thing  now  expected  of  the  modern  urban 
child.  His  attitude  is  that  of  a  listener;  he 
is  a  being  to  receive  impressions.  He  must 
store  his  mind  with  facts  deemed  important 


INTEREST  AND   MOTOR  TRAINING         113 

by  his  teachers.  This  practice  has  its  genesis 
in  the  formal  instruction  of  primitive  times, 
but  it  is  fixed  upon  the  modern  urban  school 
by  the  conditions  above  described.  Professor 
James  of  Harvard  very  truly  tells  us  that 
education  should  not  presuppose  mere  passiv- 
ity on  the  part  of  the  child ;  that  there  should 
be  no  impression  without  corresponding  expres- 
sion. That  is,  education  must  be  motor  and 
active  as  well  as  sensory  and  passive.  Some 
interpret  this  saying  as  meaning  that  the  child 
should  talk  more;  in  other  words,  that  the 
tongue  should  be  the  chief  motor  organ  ex- 
ercised. Few  will,  indeed,  depreciate  the 
educative  value  of  language;  but  when  we 
come  to  a  city  child,  who  is  Subjected  to  in- 
fluences tending  to  weaken  his  whole  nervous 
system  and  to  atrophy  many  of  his  most  im- 
portant physical  powers,  we  may  safely  put  a 
broader  interpretation  upon  Professor  James's 
dictum.  The  whole  being,  both  mental  and 
muscular,  should  be  actively  enlisted  in  the 
child's  education.  The  school  period  should 
be  regarded  quite  as  much  a  part  of  life  as 
a  preparation  for  life  subsequent  to  that  period. 


114  INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 

Each  new  day  should  set  its  new  problems, 
which  in  turn  should  incite  thinking  to  solve 
them. 

Thinking  in  vacua  is  hard  work;  thinking 
!in  the  concrete  is  a  delight.  In  real  life  there 
is  always  a  motive,  an  end  to  be  reached,  a 
problem  to  be  solved.  Thought  is  generated 
and  applied  in  one  act.  In  ordinary  so-called 
school  thinking,  however,  we  cause  years  to 
intervene  between  the  genesis  of  the  thought 
and  its  application.  We  have  the  storage 
battery  idea,  whereby  the  youth  stores  up  in 
school  mental  power  to  use  in  manhood.  Such 
figures  are  delusive.  The  mind  of  youth 
refuses  to  be  a  storage  battery  for  manhood.  It 
is  rather  ah  organism  that,  like  a  tree,  con- 
tinues to  grow,  each  year  being  one  of  real 
life  as  well  as  one  of  preparation  for  future 
life.  The  school  in  the  future  will  not  con- 
tent itself  with  a  formal  drill  in  the  tools  of 
knowledge,  but  will  add  thereto  a  real  knowl- 
edge of  nature  and  of  man,  while  the  drill 
will  emerge  as  a  requisite  for  the  mastery  of 
the  real.  The  school  of  the  future  urban 
community  will  not  content  itself  with  pour- 


INTEREST  AND  MOTOR   TRAINING          115 

ing  knowledge  into  the  pupil  as  a  passive 
recipient,  but  it  will  arouse  all  his  native 
energy  by  offering  him  a  complete  and  blended 
expression  of  his  active  intellectual  and  motor 
powers  through  a  long  series  of  occupations. 
These  occupations  will  embrace  extended  ex- 
ercises in  all  aspects  of  manual  training,  cook- 
ing, sewing,  textile  industry,  drawing,  music, 
and,  later,  laboratory  practice  in  the  sciences. 
They  will  furnish  a  complete  co-ordination  of 
motor  and  sensory  powers,  and,  coupled  with 
well-blended,  concrete,  and  formal  intellectual 
knowledge,  will  send  the  child  forth  from  the 
school  as  from  one  phase  of  life  to  another, 
healthy  and  vigorous  in  body,  clear  in  thought, 
and  ready  in  execution.  Then  the  whole  boy 
will  be  educated,  and  not,  as  now,  but  half  of 
him.  Then  the  denizen  of  the  city  may  enjoy 
all  its  manifold  advantages,  with  the  assurance 
that  neither  he  nor  his  descendants  will  be 
sacrificing  the  best  half  of  the  heritage  that 
came  from  a  rural  ancestry. 


VIII 

RELATION  OF  INTEREST  TO  METHODS  OF 
TEACHING 

IT  would  be  a  misfortune  should  teachers 
become  possessed  of  the  notion  that  vivid  ideas 
pertain  alone  to  the  occupations  whereby  we 
earn  our  living.  During  the  elementary  period 
the  question  of  vocation  is  so  remote  as  to  bear 
but  small  relation  either  to  the  methods  or  the 
matter  of  teaching.  To  press  it  unduly  to  the 
front  at  this  time  would  be  little  short  of  an  im- 
pertinence. Even  in  the  high  school  it  is  com- 
paratively rare  for  a  student  to  know  definitely 
just  what  calling  will  furnish  him  a  livelihood. 
It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  we  cannot  rely 
largely  on  future  occupation  to  furnish  us  the 
chief  means  for  arousing  interest  in  study.  The 
vagueness  of  remote  ends,  even  those  that  seem 
closest  to  requisites  for  survival,  gives  them  an 
air  of  unreality  that  is  far  from  real  vividness. 
Ideals  and  distant  ends  are  goals  to  be  kept  in 
116 


METHODS   OF   TEACHING  117 

mind  by  the  teacher,  who  knows  to  what  end 
the  seed  germinates  and  the  bud  swells.  The 
pupil  is  absorbed  in  the  present.  His  impulses 
cause  the  spontaneity  of  his  conduct,  his  sur- 
roundings furnish  the  stimulus  to  his  activity. 
When  Jean  Valjean  gave  the  doll  to  Fantine's 
child,  famished  alike  for  food  and  affection,  and 
bade  her  play,  he  may  have  seen  the  future 
mother  lavishing  upon  her  offspring  the  loving 
care  denied  to  herself ;  but  the  child  saw  only 
the  ravishing  doll,  with  its  miniature  glories  of 
form  and  dress.  She  gave  full  play  to  her  long- 
repressed  impulses.  Her  ideas  had  such  inten- 
sity that  they  completely  absorbed  her  being,  yet 
they  had  nothing  to.  do  with  adult  vocation. 
The  soul  lives  as  well  as  the  body,  and  it  is 
about  the  soul's  impulses  that  the  interests  of 
childhood  cluster. 

When  an  adult  traces  out  the  evolution  of  his 
great  life-purpose,  he  finds  that  his  ideal  has 
undergone  many  transformations  in  its  develop- 
ment. It  is  only  gradually,  and  in  the  fulness 
of  time,  that  original  impulses,  modified  by  ex- 
ternal circumstances  and  by  acquired  insight, 
assume  their  permanent  form.  Final  occupation 


118  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

is  perhaps  more  often  the  result  of  favoring  or 
hindering  circumstances  than  it  is  of  conscious, 
long-cherished  design. 

It  is  because  of  these  facts  that  Herbart  and 
others  are  justified  in  regarding  the  education 
of  the  pupil  as  a  gradual  self-revelation,  by 
means  of  a  progressive  revelation  to  him  of  the 
world  of  society  and  the  world  of  nature. 
Gaining  a  gradual  insight  into  the  world  with- 
out, he  comes  to  have  an  insight  into  the  world 
within  —  his  own  mind,  its  powers  and  aspira- 
tions. But  a  panorama  of  the  world,  whether 
institutional  or  natural,  passed  before  and  into  the 
mind  of  the  child,  is  not  the  whole  of  education. 
It  is  only  half  of  it.  Revelation  alone  may  do 
for  the  Hindoo  seer,  but  not  for  the  children  of 
the  West.  They  must  have  action.  A  German 
once  said,  "  Mann  ist  was  er  isst," 1  but  we  might 
better  say,  "Man  is  what  he  does."  A  good 
motto  for  education  would  be — Insight  through 
revelation ;  power  through  action. 

Giving  up  then,  once  for  all,  the  notion  that 
in  the  early  stages  of  education  we  must  appeal 
to  adult  life  to  find  motives  for  action  and  direct 
1  Man  is  what  he  eats. 


METHODS   OF  TEACHING  119 

stimuli  to  interest,  let  us  turn  to  the  resources 
plainly  at  our  command  for  securing  clearness 
and  vividness  of  ideas  in  the  minds  of  children. 
Enumerating  some  of  the  functions  of  instruc- 
tion that  pave  the  way  to  those  immediate  inter- 
ests which  become  gradually  transformed  into 
permanent  ones,  we  find  the  following  points  of 
importance :  — 

1.  We   must  raise  up  and  vivify  immediate 
ends,  partly  through  the  presentation  of  near- 
lying  and  appropriate  ideas,  and  partly  through 
the  utilization  of  native  tendencies  of  thought 
and  action. 

2.  We  must,  by  the  charm  of  our  manner,  the 
alertness  of  our  minds,  and  the  skill  of  our  pres- 
entation, aid  the    pupil  to   acquire  knowledge 
and  to  develop  intellectual  and  muscular  dexter- 
ity.    These  points  will  be  elaborated  in  sections 
which  follow. 

3.  We  must  seek  to  vivify  masses  of  ideas  by 
making  a  progressive  revelation  of  their  signifi- 
cance to  the  pupil.     The  student,  for  example, 
who   has   followed   the  growth   of  freedom,  as 
shown  in  the  successive  histories  of  races  and 
nations,  will  have  a  conception  of  liberty  and 


120  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

country  that  will  make  them  seem  his  most 
precious  possessions  —  the  objects  of  his  undying 
devotion. 

4.  We  must  arouse  interest  in  subjects  now 
uninteresting,   not  alone   through   charm    and 
skill,  but  also  by  showing  how  these  subjects 
contribute  to  ends  in  which  interest  is  already 
aroused.     This  is  interest   by  induction;  it  is 
more  potent  in  higher  than  in  lower  grades.     It 
should  be  possible  to   arouse  the  interest  of  a 
high  school  student  in  any  subject  that  is  plainly 
contributory   to   the   purposes   he   has   already 
formed.    Though  such  an  induced  interest  might 
be   called   indirect,  yet  there  is  good  prospect 
that  it  will  become  direct  and  independent,  pro- 
vided the  subject  is  well  taught. 

5.  It  is  one  of  the  chief  functions  of  instruc- 
tion to  arouse  the  native  powers  of  the  mind  to 
their  fullest  and  freest  expression.     The  power 
of  vigorous,  rapid,  and  sustained  thought  is  one 
of  the  choice   fruits  of  education.     It  is  only 
attained  by  constant  and  long-continued  effort 
on  the  part  of  the  child.     This  end  is  not  to  be 
attained   through   compulsion,  but  is   attained 
rather  through  that  joy  in  work  which  the  pupil 


METHODS  OF  TEACHING  121 

experiences  when  skill  and  charm  of  teaching 
incite  to  noble  effort. 

6.  The  teacher  who  would  help  to  build  up  a 
permanent  group  of  life  interests  in  the  pupils 
must  recognize  to  the  full  extent  the  native 
curiosity  of  the  mind.  The  desire  to  know  is  as 
spontaneous  in  a  child  as  the  desire  to  eat.  New 
powers  are  always  dawning,  so  that  new  stimuli 
to  curiosity  are  always  possible.  Impulses 
renew  themselves  in  manifold  directions.  Now 
we  perceive  the  impulse  to  imitate  sounds,  now 
to  scribble,  to  draw,  to  spell,  to  count,  to  collect, 
to  mimic  the  actions  of  others,  and  always  we 
may  count  upon  the  impulse  to  do,  to  make,  and 
even  to  unmake,  or  destroy.  These  impulses 
we  must  interpret  according  to  their  ultimate 
meaning.  We  must  see  to  what  they  may  or  can 
lead ;  then  we  shall  know  whether  to  encourage 
or  to  repress.  Every  fledgling  reaches  a  period 
in  its  development  when  it  wants  to  fly.  For- 
tunately there  is  little  to  hinder  its  trying  when 
the  proper  time  arrives;  but  with  the  child, 
though  every  stage  in  his  development  wit- 
nesses the  birth  of  new  powers  and  new  long- 
ings, the  conditions  under  which  we  work  in  the 


122  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

schoolroom  often  lead  us  to  forbid  his  flying, 
when  that  is  the  next  thing  he  ought  to  do. 
They  may  even  cause  us  to  lose  sight  of  the  fact 
that  he  has  wings. 

Though  its  stimulus  constantly  varies,  curi- 
osity, or  the  desire  to  understand  that  which 
at  once  attracts  and  eludes,  is  a  common  heri- 
tage of  the  race.  Curiosity  is  so  fundamental 
that  even  the  animals  share  it  with  us.  Mr. 
William  J.  Long  tells  an  entertaining  story 
of  an  old  caribou  that  greatly  wanted  to 
know  the  meaning  of  what  he  saw  and  heard.? 
The  incident  was  as  follows :  "  I  remember 
a  solitary  old  bull  that  lived  on  the  moun- 
tain side  opposite  my  camp,  one  summer  —  a 
most  interesting  mixture  of  fear  and  boldness, 
of  reserve  and  intense  curiosity.  After  I  had 
followed  him  a  few  times  and  he  found  that  my 
purpose  was  wholly  peaceable,  he  took  to  hunting 
me  in  the  same  way,  just  to  find  out  who  I  was, 
and  what  queer  thing  I  was  doing.  Sometimes 
I  would  see  him  at  sunset,  on  a  dizzy  cliff  across 
the  lake,  watching  for  the  curl  of  smoke  or  the 

1 "  Beasts  of  the  Field,"  pp.  60-61,  Ginn  &  Co.,  Boston, 
New  York,  Chicago. 


METHODS   OF  TEACHING  123 

coming  of  a  canoe.  And  when  I  jumped  in  for 
a  swim  and  went  splashing  dog-paddle  away 
about  the  island  where  my  tent  was,  he  would 
walk  about  in  the  greatest  excitement,  and  start 
a  dozen  times  to  come  down ;  but  always  he 
ran  back  for  another  look,  as  if  fascinated. 
Again  he  would  come  down  on  a  burned  point 
near  the  deep  hole  where  I  was  fishing,  and, 
hiding  his  body  in  the  underbrush,  would  push 
his  horns  up  into  the  bare  branches  of  a  with- 
ered shrub,  so  as  to  make  them  inconspicuous, 
and  stand  watching  me.  As  long  as  he  was 
quiet  it  was  impossible  to  see  him  there ;  but  I 
could  always  make  him  start  nervously  by  flash- 
ing a  looking-glass,  or  flopping  a  fish  in  the 
water,  or  whistling  a  jolly  Irish  jig.  And  when 
I  tied  a  bright  tomato  can  to  a  string  and  set  it 
whirling  round  my  head,  or  set  my  handkerchief 
for  a  flag  on  the  end  of  my  trout  rod,  then  he 
could  not  stand  it  another  minute,  but  came 
running  down  to  the  shore,  to  stamp  and  fidget 
and  stare  nervously,  and  scare  himself  with 
twenty  alarms,  while  trying  to  make  up  his  mind 
to  swim  out  and  satisfy  his  burning  desire  to 
know  all  about  it." 


124  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

An  impulse  so  powerful  with  both  child  and 
animal  should  be  utilized  to  its  fullest  extent  in 
the  schoolroom.  It  is  not  a  little  pathetic  to 
see  how  very  small  an  amount  of  aroused  and 
satisfied  curiosity  will  suffice  to  make  school 
seem  an  attractive  place  to  the  child  and  to 
sweeten  a  world  of  tedious  toil.  It  is  more 
pathetic  still  to  find  this  morsel  sometimes 
denied.  If  even  a  portion  of  the  time  spent  by 
teachers  in  looking  over  numberless  "tests" 
and  "  compositions  "  and  "  examination  papers  " 
were  used  in  devising  novel  methods  of  presen- 
tation, or  in  discovering  curious  facts  or  expla- 
nations to  bring  forward  during  recitation,  the 
school  would  be  greatly  the  gainer.  Children 
who  would  otherwise  sink  into  irretrievable 
dulness,  or  be  bored  to  the  point  of  torpidity, 
would  awake  to  find  themselves  in  a  new  and 
wonderful  world.1 

7.  Not  only  must  we  interpret  and  utilize 
the  native  impulses  clustering  about  the  desire 
to  explore  the  curious,  but  we  must  gratify  the 

1  The  story,  "Jean  Mitchell's  School,"  Public  School  Pub- 
lishing Co.,  Bloomington,  Illinois,  furnishes  many  happy 
illustrations  of  fertility  of  device  in  interesting  children. 


METHODS  OF  TEACHING  125 

equally  native  impulse  to  comprehend  the  causal 
relations  of  things.  Herbart  expressed  this 
idea  when  he  said  that  the  speculative  or  causal 
interest  is  a  type  fundamental  to  the  mind. 
A  mind  unbenumbed  by  exclusive  memoriter 
training  always  responds  to  the  question,  Why  ? 
Why  does  the  water  rise  in  a  pump  when  we 
lower  the  handle  ?  Why  does  mercury  fall  in 
the  thermometer  as  the  weather  grows  colder? 
Why  does  the  dew  gather  on  the  grass  at 
night?  Why  are  railroads  and  rivers  so  im- 
portant in  military  movements  even  when  the 
men  must  march?  Why  does  dividing  the  de- 
nominator of  a  fraction  multiply  its  value  ? 
We  could  well-nigh  secure  an  adequate  interest 
in  any  study  by  arousing  and  satisfying  the 
\  scientific  curiosity  that  is  possible  in  connection 
with  it.  A  study  not  calling  for  causal  or 
rational  explanations  is  hardly  worthy  of  a 
place  in  the  modern  school.  (Shall  we  except 
English  spelling  ?)  The  important  studies  give 
abundant  opportunity  of  gratifying  the  natural 
desire  to  know  the  cause  of  things.  This  topic 
is  treated  at  more  length  in  Section  XV. 
8.  This  enumeration  may  fitly  close  with  a 


126  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

reference  to  the  aesthetic  impulses  found  to 
greater  or  less  extent  in  every  individual. 
There  is  no  child  that  does  not  hold  some 
things  to  be  beautiful.  Men  are  not  agreed  as 
to  the  genesis  of  the  art  impulse.  Some  find 
it  in  play,  some  in  religious  feeling,  some  in 
the  economic  utilization  of  articles  of  utility, 
and  some  in  still  other  sources ;  but,  whatever 
its  origin,  the  art  impulse  is  always  present 
in  some  degree  with  children,  and  it  may  be 
aroused  and  gratified  as  one  of  the  primary 
instincts  of  the  mind.  The  school  may  be  made 
a  joyous  place  by  the  outward  adornment  of  the 
walls,  and  by  the  inner  adornment  of  the 
recitation  through  felicity  of  language,  through 
happy  humor,  and  through  the  revelation  of 
inherent  beauties  of  thoughts  and  things. 

It  will  be  the  purpose  of  a  number  of  the 
succeeding  sections  to  show  more  in  detail 
how  charm  of  manner  and  skill  of  presentation 
may  contribute  to  the  formation  of  the  choicest 
interests  that  may  attach  themselves  to  the 
studies  whereby  we  educate. 


IX 

RELATION  OF   THE  TEACHER  TO  HIS 

METHODS  1 

METHOD  is  not  an  overlord,  dominating  all 
the  doings  of  the  teacher ;  it  is  rather  a  guiding 
friend,  pointing  out  the  shortest  path  to  a  de- 
sired goal.  Some  try  to  compile  books  of 
methods  as  cooks  compile  cook-books,  or  as 
doctors  classify  specifics.  A  New  York  physi- 
cian says  he  would  pay  ten  dollars  a  dozen  for 
a  certain  fever  tablet,  if  they  could  not  be  ob- 
tained for  less,  since,  no  matter  what  the  cause 
of  the  fever,  he  finds  that  this  particular  tablet 
will  control  it.  But  the  healthy  mind  should 
not  be  treated  by  pathological  methods.  It 
demands  only  a  reasonable  conformity  to  the 
laws  of  its  normal  action,  and  the  presentation 
of  matter  in  a  fresh  and  interesting  manner. 

There  are  indeed  a  few  general  principles 
of  teaching  applicable,  with  suitable  modifica- 
tions, to  all  subjects  and  to  all  ages,  but  there 
127 


128  INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 

is  no  universal  method  for  any  subject.  There 
are  many  possible  ways  to  stimulate  and  guide 
the  mind.  Many  questions  must  be  asked 
and  answered  before  one  can  determine,  even 
approximately,  the  best  procedure  in  any  given 
case.  Thus,  for  example,  one  must  ask:  (1) 
What  knowledge  may  I  assume  that  my  pupils 
possess  concerning  this  subject?  (2)  What 
shall  be  the  starting  point?  (3)  What  diffi- 
culties of  comprehension  are  likely  to  be  en- 
countered? (4)  How  can  the  new  matter  be 
most  easily  understood  and  grasped?  (5)  In 
what  order  shall  I  present  this  lesson  ?  What 
shall  come  first,  what  last?  (6)  What  can 
I  abstract  from  other  subjects  that  will  aid 
in  this?  (7)  How  can  I  make  the  subject 
vivid?  (8)  How,  in  short,  can  I  bring  the 
pupils  to  easy  and  complete  mastery  of  the 
subject?  (9)  How  can  I  lead  them  to  make 
the  best  use  of  what  they  learn? 

Every  one  of  the  foregoing  questions  is 
susceptible  of  a  variety  of  answers,  yet  the 
answer  that  is  made  consciously  or  implicitly 
helps  to  determine  the  way  in  which  the  les- 
son shall  be  taught.  No  theory  can  give  a 


THE  TEACHER   AND  HIS  METHODS        129 

complete  and  ready  answer  to  every  question. 
If  it  could,  teaching  would  cease  to  have  the 
possibilities  of  an  art  within  itself,  and  would 
become  a  sorry  routine  occupation.  Each  case 
must  be  worked  out  by  itself  in  the  attempt 
to  reach  a  preconceived  aim.  All  'best* 
methods,  if  invariably  employed,  become  in 
virtue  of  this  fact  the  *  worst '  methods. 
This  is  true,  because,  just  as  nature  is  said  to 
abhor  a  vacuum,  so  art  abhors  a  routine. 

Young  teachers  need  to  cultivate  a  sense  of 
proportion,  to  adapt  means  to  given  ends.  It 
is  unwise  to  try  to  drive  tacks  with  sledge- 
hammers, or  spikes  with  tack-hammers.  Above 
all,  the  young  teacher  should  refrain  from 
exhibiting  the  whole  methodological  repertoire 
in  each  recitation,  even  if  critical  observers 
should  be  present.  The  ends  that  need  to 
be  emphasized  in  recitation  constantly  vary. 
Sometimes  the  exposition  of  a  difficult  point 
is  the  only  thing  that  should  be  attempted; 
at  other  times  drill  upon  matter  understood, 
but  imperfectly  learned,  should  be  the  cen- 
tral aim  of  the  lesson ;  occasionally  tests  of 
principles  will  come  to  the  front.  Noth- 


130  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

ing  at  times  could  therefore  be  more  fatal 
to  success  than  the  effort  to  go  through 
a  set  of  prescribed  exercises,  however  excel- 
lent such  a  plan  might  be  under  some  circum- 
stances. Furthermore,  power  does  not  lie  in 
the  raw  material,  but  in  its  use.  A  good 
teacher  can  make  the  dryest  sort  of  material 
glow  with  life  and  interest.  Most  persons 
dislike  technical  grammar;  yet  a  good  teacher 
can  make  it  a  charming  subject  to  almost  any 
pupil.  Once  a  group  of  college  seniors  asked 
to  be  excused  from  history,  because  they  said 
they  hated  the  subject.  They  actually  thought 
they  disliked  history,  so  great  was  their  loy- 
alty to  the  teacher,  of  whom  they  were 
personally  fond.  What  was  really  the  case 
was  that  the  glorious  attractions  of  this  most 
fascinating  study  were  tarnished  by  unsym- 
pathetic and  mechanical  treatment. 

Teaching  is  a  fine  art,  and,  like   other   arts 
of  its  kind,  it  conforms  to  Longfellow's  line :  — 

"  Art  is  long,  and  time  is  fleeting," 
or,  better,  from  the  German:  — 

"  Die  Kunst  ist  lang  und  kurz  ist  unser  Leben." 


THE  TEACHER  AND   HIS   METHODS         131 

Like  painting  or  music  or  sculpture,  there  is 
much  room  for  learning  technique,  but  more 
for  the  exercise  of  spontaneity. 

But,  we  may  ask,  when  is  the  teacher  free  ? 
When  does  he  sway  most  powerfully  the 
pupil's  mind  and  interest  ?  The  answer  is : 
when  he  best  applies  the  principles  of  method 
in  accordance  with  his  own  individuality. 
Unless  there  is  this  freedom  of  application, 
teaching  degenerates  at  once  into  routine,  in 
which  both  teacher  and  pupil  are  bored. 
Tediousness,  says  Herbart,  is  the  most  griev- 
ous fault  into  which  the  teacher  can  be  be- 
trayed. 

One  of  the  most  serious  dangers  confronting 
the  teacher,  and  one  arising  from  the  large 
number  of  children  to  be  taught,  is  that  the 
individual  will  be  concealed  in  the  mass. 
In  such  cases  mechanism  in  memorizing,  in 
drilling,  in  writing,  in  reproducing,  is  likely 
to  suppress  the  vital  and  independent ;  it 
tends  to  crush  out  or  leave  undeveloped  the 
spontaneity  of  the  individual.  There  is  all 
the  more  need,  therefore,  of  the  elevation  of 
teaching  to  a  genuine  art. 


132  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

From  the  relations  of  spontaneity  to  mech- 
anism there  arise  three  classes  of  teachers :  — 

]/  1.  There  are  first  the  '  born '  teachers, 
those  who  do  the  right  thing  by  instinct, 
"who  breathe  without  being  aware  of  their 
lungs."  We  may  call  them  the  educational 
geniuses.  Somebody  says  that  Agassiz  was 
the  only  teaching  genius  Harvard  ever  had. 
Much  as  this  may  be  doubted,  it  is  certain 
that  no  university  is  ever  the  fortunate  pos- 
sessor of  many  of  this  kind.  There  was  once 
such  a  teacher  in  Greece.  Alexander  the 
Great  had  Aristotle  for  a  teacher;  yet  one 
must  at  once  acknowledge  that  Aristotle  also 
had  Alexander  the  Great  for  a  pupil.  Could 
we  all  have  teachers  of  this  type,  the  world 
might  be  vastly  richer.  But,  alas !  the  educa- 
tional geniuses  are  few,  even  though  many 
fondly  fancy  they  belong  to  the  class. 
Among  such  teachers  all  is  spontaneity,  per- 
sonality, genius.  There  is  no  room  for  rule 
and  there  is  perhaps  no  need  for  it. 

v  2.  Then  we  have  the  numerous  class  who 
may  be  called  the  educational  artisans.  These 
are  the  teachers  who  smother  personality  by 


THE  TEACHER  AND  HIS  METHODS        133 

technique.  They  put  themselves  and  their 
pupils  into  the  straight-jacket  of  methodologi- 
cal procedure.  They  subject  everything  to  the 
routine  of  rule.  Personality  has  small  influ- 
ence in  what  they  do.  Wrinkles  and  gray  hairs, 
jangled  nerves  and  channelled  brains,  are  the 
early  portion  of  such,  for  they  expose  them- 
selves to  the  arid  blasts  of  their  calling,  with- 
out experiencing  any  of  the  life-giving  joys 
it  furnishes  to  their  more  fortunate  colleagues. 
3.  We  have,  finally,  the  educational  artists. 
They  are  the  teachers  who  value  method,  but 
do  not  overvalue  it ;  who  recognize  the  value 
of  personality,  but  avoid  its  eccentricity. 
With  them  freedom  conforms  to  law,  for  they 
blend  the  personal  and  the  law-accordant  into 
an  artistic  unity.  Personality  is  governed  by 
method;  method  is  permeated  by  personality. 
v  With  the  young,  interest  in  the  main  fol- 
lows the  teacher,  not  the  subject.  It  is  for 
this  reason  that  personality  and  teaching  skill 
are  so  important  in  the  awakening  of  the  in- 
tellect, the  enriching  of  the  mind,  the  arousing 
of  the  desires,  the  direction  of  the  outgoing 
efforts  of  the  soul. 


PERSONAL  ELEMENTS  IN  INSTRUCTION 

Speech  —  Tempo  —  Tone  —  Tension 

V  IN  all  these  matters  the  teacher  is  the  pat- 
tern, whether  he  will  or  not.  If  the  teacher's 
mind  is  alert,  the  pupil's  will  be  also ;  if  the 
teacher  exhales  the  sunny  influence  of  good 
humor,  the  soul  of  the  child  will  blossom  like 
the  rose  in  June;  if  the  teacher  uses  correct 
and  forceful  language,  the  pupils  will  strive 
to  do  the  same.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  if 
the  teacher  bristles  with  ill-humor,  or  spite- 
fulness,  or  sarcasm,  or  is  lax  in  thought  and 
bearing,  or  slovenly  in  language,  a  troop  of 
similar  ills  will  spring  up  in  the  children. 

More  perhaps  than  anything  else,  it  is  the 
voice  that  denotes  character,  that  reveals  the 
good  traits,  or  betrays  the  weak.  By  this  it 
is  not  meant  that  the  native  quality  of  the 
voice  determines  character,  for  who  has  not 
134 


PERSONAL   ELEMENTS   IN   INSTRUCTION      135 

known  most  worthy  people  with  most  execrable 
voices,  or  been  obliged  to  associate  mellowness 
of  tone  with  harshness  of  conduct  ?  It  is  rather 
the  manner  of  using  the  voice  nature  has  given 
us  that  serves  as  an  index  to  character.  The 
ideal  teacher's  voice,  especially  if  the  teacher 
be  a  woman,  is  low,  firm,  clear,  and  forceful; 
never  harsh,  boisterous,  or  shrill.  There  is 
no  more  excruciating  sound  in  nature  than  a 
thin,  shrill,  high-pitched,  and  perhaps  also  nasal 
voice,  especially  if  at  the  same  time  the  tone 
betrays  ill  temper  or  jangled  nerves.  It  is 
the  custom  of  many  undisciplined  people  to 
follow  the  law  of  the  piano  wire,  and  raise 
the  pitch  with  each  increase  of  tension.  Teach- 
ers afflicted  with  this  infirmity  should  practise 
deep,  full,  low  tones,  increasing  force  without 
raising  pitch.  As  vocal  defects  should  be 
combated  in  the  teacher,  so  the  so-called 
"  school  tone  "  should  be  discouraged  in  the 
scholar,  for  it  is  a  mark  of  the  absence  of  life 
and  interest.  Our  tones  are  not  mechanical 
when  we  are  dealing  with  real  situations,  but 
only  when  we  have  fallen  into  routine,  in- 
difference, or  dulness. 


136  INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 

On  the  other  hand,  the  teacher  should  avoid 
with  all  diligence  the  small,  indistinct,  feeble 
voice,  for  its  unimpressiveness  neither  arouses 
to  effort  nor  deters  from  mischief.  It  is  an 
index  of  shyness  or  timidity,  or  a  degree  of 
humility  incompatible  with  the  forcefulness 
essential  in  a  teacher;  or,  worst  of  all,  it 
arises  from  feebleness  of  will.  At  times  the 
wee  small  voice  seems  to  be  associated  with 
indifference,  or  stolidity,  or  general  anaemia  of 
thought.  The  remedy  in  such  cases  is  that 
urged  by  the  citizens  of  Hamelin  Town  upon 
their  council,  when  they  cried:  — 

"  Rouse  up,  sirs,  give  your  brains  a  racking, 
To  find  the  remedy  we're  lacking, 
Or,  sure  as  fate,  we'll  send  you  packing." 

When  the  student  doffs  his  cap  and  gown 
to  put  on  the  badge  of  authority  in  the  school- 
room, his  speech  is  usually  heavily  laden  with 
slang  and  dialect.  These  must  be  laid  aside 
with  college  pranks  and  general  academic  irre- 
sponsibility. Even  such  respectable  errors  as 
"It  is  me,"  or  "Like  I  do"  are  no  longer  in 
order;  while  such  slang  expressions  as  "stunts," 


PERSONAL  ELEMENTS  IN   INSTRUCTION      137 

"  cold  feet,"  or  "  busted  out,"  are   absolutely 
inadmissible. 

Speech  should,  like  the  voice,  be  clear  and 
forceful,  not  loaded  with  technicalities  or  for- 
eign terms,  or  hampered  by  academic  stiffness ; 
but  straightforward,  simple,  vigorous.  To  men- 
tion the  "synthetic  unity  of  transcendental 
apperception  "  to  students  who  have  not  read 
Kant's  "  Critique  of  Pure  Reason,"  is  to  daze 
or  disgust,  as  the  case  may  be.  Even  to  stu- 
dents of  education  who  chance  not  to  have 
read  Rosenkranz's  "Philosophy  of  Education," 
the  expression,  "  The  state  must  not  return  to 
the  psychological  ethical  genesis  of  a  negative 
deed"  might  prove  a  poser.  No  thought  im- 
portant to  a  young  mind  is  incapable  of  expres- 
sion in  language  comprehensible  to  that  mind. 
//  By  tempo  is  meant  the  rate  of  mental  move- 
ment in  the  recitation ;  by  tone,  the  prevailing 
state  of  mind,  whether  grave  or  gay,  subdued 
or  elated,  strenuous  or  relaxed.  It  is  evident 
that  tempo  and  tone  must  be  in  accord.  To 
read  a  selection  filled  with  noble  earnestness 
of  sentiment  in  light  and  rapid  tones  is  like 
singing  the  words  of  a  solemn  oratorio  to  the 


138  INTEREST  AND   EDUCATION 

jigging  measure  of  a  street  ditty.  Who  that 
has  ever  heard  the  noble  music  to  which  the 
words,  "  He  was  despised  and  rejected  of  men," 
are  sung,  would  not  have  his  feelings  outraged 
by  a  rendition  in  belittling  music?  Fancy 
reading  the  "  Reply  to  Hayne  "  in  high  and 
rapid  tones !  The  very  structure  of  the  com- 
position resists  such  an  effort. — "The  eulogium 
pronounced  by  the  honorable  gentleman  upon 
the  character  of  the  state  of  South  Carolina 
meets  my  hearty  concurrence."  In  such  com- 
position tempo  answers  naturally  to  tone. 

When,  however,  it  is  necessary  to  drill  upon 
memorized  matter,  either  singly  or  in  concert, 
as  in  reciting  the  multiplication  table  or  in 
practice  upon  inflections,  speed  is  desirable. 
The  young  like  excitement  when  it  brings 
elation  without  confusion.  The  pulse  quickens, 
the  blood  flows  in  greater  volume  to  the  brain, 
the  attention  is  sharpened,  and,  unless  the  ex- 
ercise is  too  violent,  heightened  mental  power 
and  enhanced  interest  in  school  work  result. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  where  reflection  is 
needed,  time  must  be  given.  Not  that  thought 
should  be  sluggish,  but  that  it  should  be  clear, 


PERSONAL   ELEMENTS   IN   INSTRUCTION     139 

exact,  and  reliable.  The  mind  that  is  whipped 
into  hair-trigger  explosiveness  on  matters  de- 
manding deliberation  is  almost  sure  to  become 
unreliable  in  its  thought  processes.  It  is  cock- 
sure ;  but,  as  Huxley  says,  "  Of  all  the  danger- 
ous mental  habits,  that  which  schoolboys  call 
cocksureness  is  probably  the  most  perilous." 

The  teacher  should  also  strive  for  variety 
in  tone,  emphasis,  and  inflection,  not  as  ends 
in  themselves,  but  as  mirrors  of  a  variegated 
thought  content ;  for  nothing  is  more  depressing 
than  dead  uniformity  of  voice. 

By  class  tension  we  mean  the  alertness,  the 
force,  the  earnestness,  the  enthusiasm,  with 
which  the  work  of  the  class  proceeds.  Here, 
as  everywhere,  the  teacher  sets  the  pace,  for  a 
lax  teacher  never  had  a  strenuous  class.  True 
teaching  is  hard  work.  It  requires  the  expendi- 
ture of  nervous  force.  What  we  would  see  in 
our  pupils,  we  must  first  manifest  in  ourselves. 
Are  they  to  have  enthusiasms  in  their  studies? 
The  divine  glow  must  first  burn  in  our  own 
bosoms;  our  feelings  are  the  prototypes  of 
theirs.  Is  the  school  to  be  a  part  of  real  life 
for  our  pupils?  It  must  first  be  real  to  us. 


140  INTEBEST   AND   EDUCATION 

Are  the  minds  of  our  pupils  to  be  kept  up  to 
the  growing  point?  A  similar  tension  must 
first  possess  our  own. 

When  the  minds  of  our  pupils  are  alert, 
eager,  enthusiastic,  then  they  are  growing,  for 
their  education  is  revealing  something  of  the 
infinite  riches  of  the  stored-up  mental  treasures 
of  the  race ;  then  the  roots  of  permanent  wax- 
ing interests  are  striking  deep  into  the  soil; 
then  the  personality  of  the  teacher  is  con- 
tributing its  share  toward  forming  in  the 
minds  of  the  young  masses  of  ideas  that  shall 
be  both  clear  and  vivid. 


XI 
CONCRETENESS  IN  INSTRUCTION 

y  CONCKETENESS  contributes  perhaps  more 
than  any  other  single  phase  of  instruction 
both  to  clearness  and  to  vividness.  It  lays  a 
foundation,  therefore,  for  interest. 

It  is  an  old  saying  that  "the  road  to  hell 
is  paved  with  abstractions."  However  this 
may  be  in  theology,  it  is  certain  that  in  edu- 
cation a  path  so  paved  rarely  leads  to  the 
goal  of  vivid  ideas.  Some  of  the  reasons  why 
it  does  not  are  as  follows:  — 

1.  The  teaching  of  abstractions,  mostly  empty 
to  the  pupil,  begets  a  habit  of  vain  memorizing. 
Not  understanding  clearly  the  meaning  of  the 
generalizations  placed  before  him,  yet  being 
required  to  have  at  least  the  semblance  of 
comprehension,  the  pupil  resorts  to  his  mem- 
ory. The  teacher  who  is  easily  satisfied  with 
words  will  be  content  with  accurate  verbal 
reproduction. 

141 


142  INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 

/  2.  But  the  memorizing  of  subject  matter  im- 
perfectly understood  begets  a  growing  foggi- 
ness  of  vision.  A  meaningless  abstraction 
frequently  repeated  acquires  a  familiarity  that 
soon  passes  for  knowledge.  This  is  seen  with 
adults  when  they  juggle  with,  but  do  not 
master,  the  terms  in  speculative  philosophy. 
It  is  a  new  social  phenomenon  among  the 
masses  who  have  learned  to  read  but  not  to 
think,  that  any  exploded  theory  of  ancient  phi- 
losophy may  become  a  cult  claiming  its  thou- 
sands of  devotees,  provided  its  high-sounding 
abstractions  be  tinged  with  religious  sentiment, 
or  gilded  with  promise  of  practical  usefulness. 
But  if  adults  may  so  easily  be  induced  to 
dwell  among  the  fogs  by  feeding  on  abstrac- 
tions, what  shall  we  say  of  the  children  and 
youths  who  are  fed  with  the  same  indigesti- 
ble mental  food? 

3.  Another  way  of  saying  the  same  thing 
is  to  point  out  the  fact  that  the  memorizing 
of  rules  and  definitions  not  yet  understood 
leads  to  the  substitution  of  words  for  ideas. 
Lotze  tells  us  that  all  strivings  of  the  mental 
life  not  only  begin  with  the  concrete  percep 


CONCRETENESS  IN   INSTRUCTION          143 

tions  of  the  senses,  but  that  they  ever  return 
to  them  to  obtain  material  and  starting  points 
for  new  development  of  the  mind's  activity.1 
If  this  be  true,  the  road  paved  with  abstrac- 
tions is  the  road  away  from  interest,  away  from 
vivid  and  life-giving  thought. 

Concreteness  arises  from  the  use  of  objects 
or  of  pictures  or  of  individual  and  striking 
illustrations.  We  can  make  words  alone  thrill 
with  the  intensity  that  comes  of  direct  per- 
ception, for  the  imagination  can  be  made  to 
furnish  an  inner  concrete  vision  comparable 
to  the  reality  itself.  Such  words  are  well 
chosen,  rich  in  sensuous  elements,  plastic  in 
tone,  full  of  spirit,  always  dealing  with  specific 
facts  or  particular  events.  Indeed,  many  peo- 
ple have  the  happy  gift  of  transmuting  the 
commonplace  into  the  interesting,  or  even  the 
important,  solely  by  means  of  spirited  narration. 
What  seems  prosaic  enough  to  the  ordinary 
observer  becomes  irresistibly  comical,  or  pass- 
ing strange,  or  humanly  pathetic,  when  thrown 
upon  the  screen  of  consciousness  by  the  words 

i  "  Mikrokosmos,"  II,  p.  176. 


144  INTEREST  AND   EDUCATION 

of  one  who  sees  the  significance  in  the  pano- 
rama of  the  day's  experiences.  The  teacher, 
above  all  others,  needs  to  have  the  philoso- 
pher's stone,  the  power  of  turning  into  gold 
,  what  would  otherwise  be  dross. 

The  inner  vision  of  teacher  and  pupil  should 
coincide.  The  world  of  words  should  go  over 
into  the  world  of  things  in  the  mind  of  the 
learner.  This  coincidence  and  inner  illumina- 
tion may  be  brought  about  in  many  ways. 
We  may,  for  instance,  compare  the  strange  and 
distant  with  the  familiar  and  near.  The  past 
exists  as  an  element  of  the  present.  There 
is  no  victory  of  human  liberty  in  the  bygone 
ages  that  does  not  find  its  embodiment  in  some 
aspect  of  modern  society.  Alchemy  led  to 
chemistry,  and  astrology  to  astronomy.  Our 
present  industrial  implements  and  machines 
have  their  prototypes  for  the  most  part  in 
those  of  olden  times.  No  touch  of  human 
nature  portrayed  in  myth  or  legend  is  entirely 
eliminated  from  our  own  characters.  It  fol- 
lows, then,  that  if  we  seek  the  strange  in  the 
familiar,  we  shall  in  most  cases  find  it.  A 
false  scientific  pride  often  prevents  the  graduate 


CONCRETENESS   IN  INSTRUCTION          145 

of  the  university  from  using  the  most  potent 
means  for  securing  the  greatest  clearness  and 
vividness  of  ideas.  The  understanding  of  the 
young  has  its  roots  in  the  home,  the  play- 
ground, the  family,  the  woods,  the  meadows  or 
fields,  the  village  or  the  city.  He  is  the  wise 
teacher  who  takes  note  of  this  fact,  and  anchors 
every  conception  in  the  experience  of  the 
learner. 

The  natural  sciences,  properly  taught,  furnish 
the  most  fertile  fields  for  the  growth  of  con- 
crete ideas.  They  have  to  do  with  objects  in 
countless  variety,  with  cause  producing  its 
effect  before  the  eyes.  In  these  studies  the 
senses  are  always  active.  We  are  ever  called 
upon  to  see,  to  handle,  to  hear,  to  touch,  to 
experiment.  Thus,  in  the  study  of  plants  and 
minerals  and  animals,  the  eye  and  the  hand  are 
called  into  constant  activity.  We  distinguish 
form  and  color,  structure  and  surface.  We 
perceive  the  smooth,  the  clean,  the  light,  the 
heavy,  the  firm,  and  the  yielding.  Surfaces, 
points,  lines,  angles,  engage  our  attention. 
We  count  and  measure  and  use  instruments. 
When  objects  are  absent,  we  may  compare  them 


146  INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 

with  those  present,  or  we  may  use  the  photo- 
graph or  the  stereopticon.  Even  the  specu- 
lations of  biological  science  can  be  made  vivid 
by  the  use  of  fossil  objects.  All  the  natural 
sciences  are  made  more  concrete  by  experiment^ 
but  this  is  especially  true  of  physics  and 
chemistry.  The  principle  of  the  siphon  may 
be  made  concrete  by  the  use  of  a  bent  rubber 
tube,  or  that  of  the  pump  with  a  straight  lamp 
chimney  fitted  with  the  necessary  rod  and 
valves. 

In  arithmetic  we  may  render  the  ideas  con- 
crete by  the  use  of  blocks,  as  in  the  Speer 
method,1  and  by  many  other  devices  for  measur- 
ing and  illustrating.  In  geometry  we  may 
lend  concreteness  to  notions  by  measuring, 
folding,  paper-cutting,  comparing,  and  super- 
posing. Messrs.  Beman  and  Smith  have  given 
us  a  translation  of  "  Row's  Geometric  Exercises 
in  Paper  Folding," 2  which  enables  the  teacher 
to  render  a  large  part  of  geometry  perfectly 
concrete,  and  hence  of  fascinating  interest. 

In  geography,   ideas  are   rendered  concrete 

i  Ginn  &  Co.,  Boston,  New  York,  Chicago, 
a  Ibid. 


CONCBETENESS   IN   INSTRUCTION          147 

by  spontaneous  observation  and  by  directed 
experience.  Pictures,  maps,  and  globes,  as  ! 
well  as  oral  descriptions,  are  aids  to  concrete- 
ness.  Geography  is  more  difficult  than  nature 
study  in  this  respect,  however,  for  the  remote 
must  always  be  pictured  to  the  mind  through 
comparison  with  the  near. 

History  makes  a  larger  draft  upon  the  imagi- 
nation than  the  subjects  just  mentioned,  yet  it 
is  possible  to  fill  it  so  full  of  concrete  vividness 
that  it  will  become  the  most  fascinating  of  all 
studies.  As  already  remarked,  the  past  lives  in 
the  present,  and  it  is  through  the  present  it 
must  be  made  to  live  again.  Whittier's  boyish 
schoolmaster  understood  the  art  of  making  his 
hearers  see  the  old  in  the  new. 


"  Happy  the  snow-locked  homes  wherein 
He  tuned  his  merry  violin, 
Or  played  the  athlete  in  the  barn, 
Or  held  the  good  dame's  winding-yarn, 
Or  mirth-provoking  versions  told, 
Of  classic  legends,  rare  and  old, 
Wherein  the  scenes  of  Greece  and  Rome 
Had  all  the  commonplace  of  home, 
And  little  seemed  at  best  the  odds 
'Twixt  Yankee  pedlers  and  old  gods : 


148  INTEREST   AND  EDUCATION 

Where  Pindus-born  Araxes  took 
The  guise  of  any  grist-mill  brook, 
And  dread  Olympus  at  his  will 
Became  a  huckleberry  hill."  x 

Olympic  games  become  more  real  when  com- 
pared with  our  modern  forms  of  athletics. 
The  past  may  be  read,  too,  in  monuments, 
buildings,  castles,  forts,  etc.  The  foreign-born 
child  has  the  advantage  of  being  able  to  see 
many  ruins  of  forts  and  buildings,  many  monu- 
ments and  historic  works  of  art;  but  pictures, 
aided  by  such  art  and  historic  remains  as  we 
have,  are  no  mean  substitutes. 

Linguistic  instruction  suffers  somewhat  in 
vivid  objectivity,  for  it  is  through  inner  per- 
ception that  words  must  gain  life  and  color. 
In  the  study  of  English  poetry,  we  must  avoid 
the  too  early  or  too  frequent  use  of  abstract 
terms  like  metonymy,  metaphor,  synecdoche,  etc., 
or  the  reduction  of  classic  dramas  to  skeleton 
outlines,  thus  robbing  them  of  flesh  and  blood. 
On  the  contrary,  emphasis  should  be  laid  upon 
the  inner  life  and  power  of  the  contents ;  stress 
should  be  placed  upon  the  personalities  por- 

1  "Snowbound." 


\ 


CONCRETENESS   IN   INSTRUCTION          149 

trayed,  upon  the  development  of  their  thoughts 
and  actions.  It  is  ever  life  that  stimulates  life. 

In  the  study  of  foreign  languages  we  gain 
concreteness  by  comparing  their  characteristics 
of  word  and  structure,  with  the  characteristics 
of  the  mother  tongue.  It  is  a  happy  circum- 
stance for  language  teaching  that  nearly  a  third 
of  our  vocabulary  comes  to  us  from  Latin 
through  the  French,  while  the  body  of  English 
is  of  Anglo-Saxon  origin.  The  teacher. of  Latin, 
French,  or  German,  therefore,  need  rarely  be 
at  a  loss  to  find  in  English  a  basis  for  the  com- 
prehension of  any  one  of  these  languages. 

Translation,  to  be  effective,  must  never 
descend  to  the  level  of  the  puzzle,  or  become  a 
mechanical  process,  but  it  must  thrill  with  life 
and  vigor;  the  thought  to  be  discovered  must 
seem  a  precious  message  to  be  unearthed  like  a 
gem  from  a  mine.  It  need  hardly  be  said  that 
to  make  a  foreign  language  concrete,  there 
must  be  no  premature  emphasis  upon  the 
grammar  alone,  for  grammar  is  at  best  a  useful 
instrument,  like  a  spade.  If  it  is  made  an  end 
in  itself,  we  lose  at  once  concreteness,  vivid- 
ness, and  interest. 


XII 
ORAL  PRESENTATION 

THE  oldest  thing  in  education  is  the  voice  of 
the  teacher  addressing  itself  to  the  ear  of  the 
learner.  It  is  the  primitive  method  of  teaching. 
By  this  means  Homer  imbibed  his  knowledge  of 
the  Greek  heroes.  By  it  he  imparted  to  the 
world  the  wonderful  creations  of  his  mind. 
Mr.  Denton  J.  Snyder  has  pictured  to  us  the 
poet  at  his  mother's  knee,  listening  with  glow- 
ing soul  to  her  stories  of  the  ancient  heroes  and 
Olympian  gods  : 1  — 

"  She  would  begin  with  a  glow  in  her  eyes  and  tell  me 
their  story, 

Meanwhile  plying  the  distaff  —  she  never  could  help 
being  busy  — 

All  of  their  tales  she  knew,  by  the  hundreds  and  hun- 
dreds she  knew  them, 

Tales  of  the  beings  divine,  once  told  of  their  dealings 
with  mankind, 

1 "  Homer  in  Chios,"  Sigma  Publishing  Co.,  Chicago. 
160 


ORAL  PRESENTATION  151 

When  they  came  to  our  earth  and  visibly  mingled  with 

mortals. 
New  was  always  the  word  on  the  tongue  of  Cretheis 

my  mother, 
Though  she  dozens  of  times  before  had  told  the  same 

story, 

Still  repeating  when  I  would  call  for  it,  ever  repeating, 
For  a  good  tale,  like  the  sun,  doth  shine  one  day  as  the 

other. 
What  a  spell  on  her  lips  when  up  from  her  lap  I  was 

looking, 
Watching  her  mouth  in  its  motion,  whence  dropped 

those  wonderful  stories  ! 
Oft  I  thought  I  could  pick  up  her  word  in  my  hand  as 

it  fell  there, 
Keep  it  and  carry  it  off,  for  my  play  a  most  beautiful 

plaything, 
Which  I  could  toss  on  the  air  when  I  chose,  like  a  ball 

or  an  apple, 
Catch  it  again  as  it  fell  in  its  flight,  for  the  word  was  a 

thing  then. 
Mark !  what  I  as  a  child  picked  up,  the  old  man  still 

plays  with : 
Words  made  of  breath,  but  laden  with  thought  more 

solid  than  granite, 
Pictures  of  heroes  in  sound  that  lasts,  when  spoken, 

forever, 

Images  fair  of  the  world  and  marvellous  legends  afore- 
time, 
All  of  them  living  in  me  as  they  fell  from  the  lips  of 

my  mother." 


152  INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 

It  is  evident  that  a  method  once  almost  the 
sole  reliance  of  the  race  for  educating  the 
young  must  still  possess  virtue,  even  in  this  age 
of  books  and  pictures.  To  examine  the  scope 
and  usefulness  of  oral  presentation  as  a  means 
of  forming  clear  and  vivid  ideas  in  the  minds  of 
the  young  is  the  purpose  of  this  section. 

We  need,  first  of  all,  to  see  the  difference 
between  the  monologue  and  the  dialogue.  In 
the  former  the  speaker  not  only  does  all  the 
talking,  but  usually  all  the  thinking.  What- 
ever we  may  think  of  the  lecture  method  in  the 
university,  one  need  not  reflect  long  to  see  that 
it  is  not  well  adapted  to  the  instruction  of  the 
young.  Unless  the  lecture  is  so  fascinating  as 
to  rest  under  the  suspicion  of  not  teaching 
what  the  children  need  to  learn,  the  passivity  of 
the  hearers  is  likely  to  lead  to  inattention  and 
ultimately  to  disorder.  But  even  if  the  children 
are  attentive  and  orderly,  it  is  almost  certain 
that  they  will  neither  learn  accurately  nor  think 
well,  for  the  lecturer  is  prone  to  pour  out  knowl- 
edge too  rapidly,  while  the  children  have  no 
incentive  and  no  opportunity  to  do  any  real 
thinking.  The  mind  is  carried  on  from  point 


ORAL  PRESENTATION  153 

to  point  by  the  stimulus  of  the  lecturer's  words. 
The  pupil  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  allow  the 
train  of  ideas  to  follow  the  lead  of  the  teacher. 
He  does  not  in  the  least  direct  it  himself.  The 
process  is  not  unlike  that  in  revery,  in  which 
the  mental  panorama  unrolls  itself  as  it  will. 
There  may  be  much  more  intensity  in  the  case 
of  a  good  lecture,  and  hence  a  correspondingly 
greater  impression,  but  even  at  its  best  the 
lecture  does  little  to  impart  knowledge  or  to 
stimulate  real  thinking. 

It  is  an  illusion  to  suppose  that  because  one 
talks  one  thereby  necessarily  teaches.  There  is 
a  vast  difference  between  telling  and  teaching. 
In  genuine  teaching  we  must  see  that  knowl- 
edge is  so  acquired  that  it  may  be  a  real  posses- 
sion, and  we  must  see  that  the  mind  of  the 
learner  is  active  enough  to  perceive  and  feel 
the  significance  of  what  is  learned.  This 
means  that  the  new  lesson  must  be  associated 
with  related  knowledge  already  acquired,  and  it 
means  also  that  the  principles  underlying  the 
new  facts  must  be  fully  appreciated  through 
actual  thinking. 

In  ancient  Greece   it  was  the  Sophists  who 


154  INTEREST  AND   EDUCATION 

used  the  monologue  exclusively.  They  simply 
lectured  to  the  people,  holding  that  there 
was  no  need  of  debate,  since  this  would  but 
reveal  difference  of  opinion.  But,  they  said, 
if  each  man  has  his  own  opinion,  and  has  a 
right  to  it,  then  there  is  no  use  in  discuss- 
ing at  all,  for  no  conclusion  can  be  reached. 
The  result  of  this  theory  was  that  each  Sophist 
went  from  place  to  place  telling  his  own 
opinions  and  giving  no  one  a  chance  to  com- 
bat them.  He  finally  held  openly  that,  since 
difference  of  opinion  leads  to  no  conclusion, 
each  man  must  himself  be  the  measure  of  truth 
\/  for  himself.  Under  such  circumstances  it  is 
evident  that  science  could  not  exist.  There 
would  be  no  room  for  anything  but  opinion. 

It  is  well  for  the  progress  of  the  world  that  a 
wiser  man,  in  the  person  of  Socrates,  appeared 
to  confound  the  Sophists  and  to  lead  men  to 
see  that  such  a  thing  as  science  can  exist.  For 
knowledge  of  any  kind  to  be  scientific,  it  must 
become  subject  to  laws  and  principles  which 
are  seen  to  be  independent  of  the  opinions  of 
individuals.  If  we  still  had  'opinions'  about 
the  truths  of  the  multiplication  table,  we  should 


ORAL  PRESENTATION  155 

have  no  science  of  mathematics.  Socrates 
used,  not  the  monologue,  but  the  dialogue,  in 
his  endeavors  to  get  at  the  truth  of  things. 
Being  able  to  ask  questions  and  to  use  the 
answers,  he  soon  sifted  out  those  opinions  that 
were  self-contradictory.  In  this  way  he  was 
able  to  reduce  experience  to  rule  and  principle. 
The  teacher's  problem,  however,  is  not  pre- 
cisely that  of  Socrates,  for,  instead  of  overturn- 
ing a  false  system  of  ideas,  the  teacher  must  try 
to  secure  an  adequate  comprehension  of  systems 
of  thought  everywhere  recognized  to  be  true. 
But  if  he  uses  the  method  of  the  monologue, 
he  is  likely  to  make  authority  take  the  place 
of  insight,  to  substitute  passing  impression  for 
careful,  thoughtful  mastery.  The  fundamental 
difficulty  with  the  lecture  method  is  that  it 
\;  secures  little  or  no  response  from  the  student. 
As  an  occasional  means  of  arousing  interest 
in  a  subject,  of  giving  a  point  of  view,  of 
showing  the  broader  meaning  of  our  daily  work, 
thus  giving  a  telescopic  glimpse  into  the  future, 
the  lecture  is  invaluable.  But  if  we  spend 
all  our  time  gazing  at  the  future  through  the 
glass,  we  shall  never  arrive  at  the  distant  goal. 


156  INTEREST  AND   EDUCATION 

Interchange  of  thought,  through  question 
and  answer,  through  explanation,  description, 
and  exposition,  in  short,  through  the  dia- 
logue, is  therefore  the  indispensable  requisite 
of  useful  oral  presentation. 

The  length  and  character  of  the  oral  work 
will  depend  upon  the  age  of  the  pupils  and 
the  nature  of  the  subject  matter.  The  man- 
ner of  the  presentation  should  be  open  and 
free,  calculated  to  hold  the  eye  and  to  keep 
•  the  attention.  The  minds  of  the  children  must  | 
be  kept  on  the  alert  by  thought-inciting  ques- 
tions. Dictation  of  matter  to  be  copied  is  outjj 
of  place,  because  time-consuming,  and  depress- 
ing to  lively  interest;  but  condensed  headings 
should  be  written  upon  the  blackboard.  If 
brief  and  pointed,  the  writing  by  the  teacher 
and  the  copying  by  the  pupil  will  not  interrupt 
the  progress  of  the  presentation;  it  will  con- 
duce rather  both  to  mastery  of  the  subject  and 
to  interest  in  it. 


^       Narration  of  events   in   the   form   of  stories 

)  or  vivid  description  of  what  has   happened   is 

/  the  simplest,  and  at  the  same  time  perhaps  the 


ORAL  PRESENTATION  157 

most  effective,  kind  of  oral  presentation.  A 
good  story-teller  claims  instant  and  constant 
attention.  He  knocks  at  all  doors,  —  humor, 
gladness,  sadness,  pity,  exultation,  fear;  he 
rouses  to  action  or  subdues  rebellious  feelings  ; 
he  softens  to  kindness  where  only  callousness 
formerly  existed;  he  can,  in  short,  through 
proper  selection  of  subject  matter,  and  by  sym- 
pathetic narration,  produce,  at  least  for  the 
time  being,  any  worthy  effect  upon  his  pupils 
that  he  may  deem  desirable. 

Narration  of  this  kind  can  be  used  effectively 
at  times  in  every  subject,  but  it  is  of  special 
service  in  languages,  in  history,  and  in  the 
natural  sciences.  One  who  is  teaching  natural 
history  should  avail  himself  of  such  literary 
treasures  as  the  works  of  William  J.  Long1 
and  Ernest  Seton-Thompson.2  In  the  earlier 
grades,  where  imagination  plays  a  more  prom- 
inent part,  Kipling's  "Jungle  Books"  will  be 
most  helpful.  With  the  early  grades,  it  is 
best  for  the  teacher  to  adhere  closely  to  what 

1  "  Beasts  of  the  Field  "  and  "  Fowls  of  the  Air.*'    Ginn 
&  Co.,  Boston,  New  York,  and  Chicago. 
a  "  Some  Wild  Animals  I  have  Known." 


158  INTEREST   AND  EDUCATION 

has  been  put  into  permanent  literary  form. 
This  should  be  narrated  as  nearly  in  the  words 
of  the  original  as  possible,  for  much  of  the 
charm  of  such  matter  depends  upon  the  form. 

The  pupils  should  have  frequent  opportunity 
to  reproduce  what  has  been  narrated.  In  this 
way  they  absorb  a  large  body  of  correct  and 
even  elegant  language,  which  frequent  repro- 
duction makes  their  own.  This  method  can 
even  be  used  in  the  teaching  of  modern  foreign 
languages,  much  to  the  advantage  of  the  pupil's 
fluency  in  using  the  strange  tongue.  The 
teacher  should  narrate  freely,  not  hampered 
by  the  book.  Some  teachers  can  read  almost 
as  well  as  they  can  narrate,  but  a  story  read 
often  reminds  one  of  an  eagle  walking.  The 
eagle  is  free  in  his  movements  only  when  fly- 
ing. So  the  narration  of  the  teacher  only 
reaches  its  greatest  excellence  when  he  is  un- 
impeded by  the  book.  In  the  case  of  extended 
narration,  the  story  should  be  told  and  retold 
section  by  section. 

The  art  of  describing  is  far  more  difficult 
than  that  of  narrating,  and  for  a  very  good 
reason,  which  Lessing  long  since  pointed  out  in 


OKAL  PBESENTATION  159 

his  book,  "Laocob'n."1  Narration  describes 
that  which  happens  in  time ;  description  tells 
of  that  which  exists  in  space.  In  following 
the  unfolding  of  events  as  they  happen  one 
after  another,  the  narration  simply  follows  the 
natural  order  of  cause  and  effect,  each  part 
of  the  story  coinciding  with  its  own  particular 
phase  of  the  progress  of  events.  In  other 
words,  the  time  elements  of  the  story  cor- 
respond to  the  time  elements  of  the  original 
occurrence.  In  the  case  of  description,  how- 
ever, though  there  is  a  time  element  in  the 
oral  presentation  as  before,  there  is  no  cor- 
responding time  progress  in  the  thing  de- 
scribed. The  description  moves  on,  but  the 
object  does  not.  The  mind  must  therefore 
hold  constantly  before  itself  the  elements  of 
the  thing  described,  joining  the  one  to  the 
other  as  the  description  proceeds.  This  is  why 
it  is  hard  to  describe  effectively,  and  why  a  de- 
scription is  hard  to  follow  even  when  it  is  clear. 
What  could  be  simpler  than  a  bed  of  flowers, 
yet  how  few  can  make  an  adequate  mental 
picture  from  even  a  good  description?  The 
1  Translation,  The  Macmillan  Co.,  New  York. 


160  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

reader  may  try  his  own  powers  upon  the  follow- 
ing, which  certainly  does  not  leave  a  vague 
impression  because  of  any  literary  fault :  — 

"  There  does  the  noble  Gentian  raise  his  head 
High  o'er  the  troop  of  common  plants, 
Beneath  its  standard  serves  a  tribe  of  flowers ; 
Its  own  blue  brother  bows  and  honors  it. 
While  golden  pyramids  of  brilliant  flowers 
Cling  round  the  stem  and  crown  its  robe  of  green, 
The  leaves  of  brilliant  white,  with  deepest  green, 
Streaked  and  inlaid  throughout,  are  seen  to  glow 
With  the  moist  diamond's  many-colored  rays, 
Most  righteous  law  !  uniting  strength  with  grace, 
In  the  fair  body  dwells  the  fairer  soul. 
Here  creeps  a  lowly  plant  like  some  gray  mist, 
Its  leaves  by  nature  shaped  as  cruciform ; 
Two  gilded  beaks  formed  by  the  lovely  flower 
Spring  from  a  bird  made  out  of  amethyst. 
Here  a  bright  finger-fashioned  leaf  doth  cast 
Its  green  reflection  in  the  limpid  stream. 
The  flower  of  snow,  with  purple  lightly  tinged, 
Environed  by  the  white  rays  of  a  star ; 
Emeralds  and  roses  deck  the  trodden  heath, 
And  cliffs  are  covered  with  a  purple  robe." 

For  the  sake  of  contrast,  the  reader  may 
try  a  somewhat  longer  selection  in  which 
events,  unfolding  in  a  time  order,  keep  pace 
with  the  march  of  the  narration.  There  is 


ORAL   PRESENTATION  161 

no  difficulty  now  in  vivid  apprehension,  either 
of  the  story,  or  of  the  descriptive  elements  it 
contains. 

"  A  greater  omen,  and  of  worse  portent, 
Did  our  unwary  minds  with  fear  torment, 
Concurring  to  produce  the  dire  event. 
Laocoon,  Neptune's  priest  by  lot  that  year, 
With  solemn  pomp  then  sacrificed  a  steer ; 
When  (dreadful  to  behold)  from  sea  we  spied 
Two  serpents,  ranked  abreast,  the  seas  divide, 
And  smoothly  sweep  along  the  swelling  tide. 
Their  flaming  crests  above  the  waves  they  show ; 
Their  bellies  seem  to  burn  the  seas  below ; 
Their  speckled  tails  advance  to  steer  their  course, 
And  on  the  sounding  shore  the  flying  billows  force. 
And  now  the  strand,  and  now  the  plain  they  held. 
Their  ardent  eyes  with  bloody  streaks  were  filled ; 
Their  nimble  tongues  they  brandished  as  they  came 
And  licked  their  hissing  jaws,  that  sputtered  flame. 
We  fled  amazed :  their  destined  way  they  take, 
And  to  Laocoon  and  his  children  make ; 
And  first  around  the  tender  boys  they  wind, 
Then  with  their  sharpened  fangs  their  limbs  and  bodies 

grind. 

Their  wretched  father,  running  to  their  aid 
With  pious  haste,  but  vain,  they  next  invade  ; 
Twice  round  his  waist  their  winding  volumes  rolled ; 
And  twice  about  his  gasping  throat  they  fold. 
The  priest  thus  doubly  choked  —  their  crests  divide, 
And  towering  o'er  his  head  in  triumph  ride. 


162  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

With  both  his  hands  he  labors  at  the  knots ; 

His  holy  fillets  the  blue  venom  blots ; 

His  roaring  fills  the  flitting  air  around. 

Thus  when  an  ox  receives  a  glancing  wound, 

He  breaks  the  bands,  the  fatal  altar  flies, 

And  with  loud  bellowings  breaks  the  yielding  skies." 

The  entire  "Laocoon"  is  devoted  to  a  dis- 
cussion of  the  natural  limitations  of  poetry  on 
the  one  side,  and  painting  and  sculpture  on 
the  other.  In  poetry  (and  narration)  the  time 
element  is  all  important,  so  that  description 
as  such  is  unnatural  to  it;  whereas  in  painting 
the  space  element  is  all  important,  so  that  the 
effort  to  portray  events  by  means  of  painting 
or  sculpture  must  necessarily  prove  ineffective. 
The  book  opens  with  a  discussion  of  why  the 
mouth  of  "Laocoon"  in  the  famous  statue  of 
that  name  is  so  nearly  closed,  when  the  natural 
thing  for  a  Greek  to  do  under  such  circum- 
stances would  be  to  shriek  aloud,  as  Virgil 
makes  "  Laocoon  "  do.  Winkelmann  and  others 
had  explained  the  half-closed  position  of  the 
mouth  as  being  due  to  '  classic  repose ' ;  but 
Lessing  points  out  that  to  have  made  the 
mouth  wide  open,  as  it  would  be  in  screaming, 


ORAL  PRESENTATION  163 

would  be  to  reduce  to  a  permanent  space 
condition  that  which  is  only  a  passing  time 
state.  This  is  the  reason  why  we  do  not  like  a 
smile  in  a  photograph.  A  smile  is  a  transient 
thing,  whose  charm  is  due  to  its  creation  and 

&'  fWVW 

its  disappearance.  A  permanent  smile  becomes 
a  kind  of  petrified  grin.  It  follows  that  descrip- 
tion is  a  sort  of  word-painting,  and  is  a  substi- 
tute for  what  should  be  a  real  painting  to  be 
an  adequate  representation  of  the  reality. 

The  "Laocoon"  will  well  repay  a  careful 
reading  on  the  part  of  the  teacher  who 
desires  to  see  the  true  scope  and  the  limita- 
tions both  of  narration  and  description.  It  is 
of  course  invaluable  in  furnishing  canons  of 
art  criticism. 

Difficult  though  the  art  of  describing  may  ! 
be,  it  is  still  indispensable  in  the  teaching  of 
nearly  all  school  subjects.  It  is  particularly 
needed  in  geography  and  nature  work,  in 
history  and  in  language.  The  art  can  best  be 
studied  in  the  few  poets  and  novelists  who, 
like  Scott,  excel  in  descriptive  power.  In 
describing  an  animal  or  a  plant  the  life  his- 
tory of  the  object,  as  from  seed  to  fruit,  or 


164  INTEREST  AND   EDUCATION 

from  birth  to  death,  lends  concreteness,  and 
helps  to  supply  the  time  movement  so  impor- 
tant in  narration.  In  biography  a  similar 
device  may  be  used,  the  history  of  a  man 
being  traced  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave. 
One  can  enliven  the  description  of  a  mineral 
by  giving  it  a  place  in  human  affairs;  as,  for 
instance,  as  an  element  in  a  bridge  or  a 
building  or  a  locomotive.  When  an  object  is 
present,  its  description  is  greatly  assisted  by 
this  fact  alone.  The  description  will  natu- 
rally proceed  by  actual  or  ideal  separation  of 
the  object  into  its  elements,  each  of  which 
will  be  seen  in  relation  to  the  other  elements 
and  to  the  whole.  Here  a  right  order  is  im- 
portant, as  in  the  description  of  leaves  and 
insects.  It  is  an  excellent  exercise  for  the 
pupil  to  try  to  make  clear  to  others  that 
which  he  has  himself  discovered.  If  a  dis- 
tant plant  or  animal  is  to  be  described,  the 
genetic  order  already  mentioned  is  extremely 
important. 

The  aspect  of  oral  presentation  that  we 
call  exposition  is  so  important  that  a  separate 
section  must  be  devoted  to  it. 


XIII 

THE  ART  OF  EXPOSITION- 
IT  is  a  nice  point  in  teaching  to  know 
what  things  need  exposition ;  it  is  an  equally 
important  one  to  know  to  what  extent  they 
need  it.  While  it  is  quite  possible  to  make 
a  philosophic  exposition  of  the  implications 
to  be  found  in  a  story  like  that  of  Simple 
Simon,  yet  such  labor  is  lost  on  the  child 
young  enough  to  enjoy  the  rhymes.  Old 
King  Cole  can't  be  made  merrier  by  explana- 
tion, nor  Little  Jack  Horner  any  better.  A 
Mother  Goose  story  is  its  own  best  revelation 
to  the  child.  On  the  other  hand,  almost  any 
phase  of  any  subject  of  school  instruction 
may  at  times  need  exposition. 
\/  Everything  turns  upon  the  relation  of  the 
point  to  be  understood  to  the  stage  of  mental 
advancement  in  the  learner.  One  mind,  for 
instance,  grasps  the  nature  of  a  demonstration 
with  perfect  ease,  another  feels  it  but  dimly 
165 


166  INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 

or  not  at  all;  one  can  travel  with  seven- 
league  boots  through  the  stages  of  a  mathe- 
matical process,  another  must  take  every 
step,  however  short,  or  falter  by  the  way. 
The  imagination  of  one  pupil  is  lively  and 
clear,  while  that  of  another  flies  with  leaden 
wings;  one  student  has  illuminating  knowl- 
edge, while  another's  light  is  darkness.  One 
boy  remembers  and  thinks  in  a  flash;  the 
mind  of  another  is  a  sieve  which  holds  only 
dross.  In  short,  that  which  needs  exposition 
is  as  manifold  as  subject  matter  and  mind. 
It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  the  teacher 
must  know  both  his  subject  and  the  mind  of 
his  pupil. 

To  descend  somewhat  to  details,  it  is  clear 
that  that  which  is  remote  in  time  or  distant 
in  space  may  be  out  of  immediate  relation  to 
the  experience  of  the  pupils,  hence  be  in  need 
of  more  or  less  exposition.  History  always 
makes  large  drafts  upon  the  imagination,  for 
a  prosaic  present  may  furnish  but  scant  basis 
for  constructing  a  long-vanished  scene.  It 
may  be  difficult  to  disentangle  from  the  pres- 
ent the  elements  of  political  life  that  had 


THE   ART   OF  EXPOSITION  167 

their  genesis  in  the  Orient,  or  in  the  Occi- 
dent of  long  ago.  Yet  if  ancient  history  is 
to  have  the  vividness  that  comes  from  a 
sense  of  its  reality,  the  chasm  of  years  must 
be  bridged,  the  past  must  live  again  in  the 
present.  The  meaning  of  obscure  poetry  may 
often  be  made  clear  by  illustration  and  para- 
phrase, while  its  spirit  may  often  be  imparted 
by  sympathetic  and  appreciative  reading.  Mr. 
John  Burroughs  has  only  scorn  for  efforts  to 
find  the  heart  of  literature  by  means  of  liter- 
ary dissection.1  He  says:  "If  the  teacher, 
by  his  own  living  voice  and  an  occasional 
word  of  comment,  can  bring  out  the  soul  of 
a  work,  he  may  help  the  student's  apprecia- 
tion of  it,  he  may,  in  a  measure,  impart  to 
him  his  own  larger  and  more  intelligent 
appreciation  of  it.  And  that  is  a  true  ser- 
vice. 

"  Young  men  and  women  actually  go  to  col- 
lege to  take  a  course  in  Shakespeare  or  Chaucer 
or  Dante  or  the  Arthurian  legends.  The  course 
becomes  a  mere  knowledge  course.  My  own 
first  acquaintance  with  Milton  was  through  an 
1  "Literary  Values,"  Century,  April,  1902. 


168  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

exercise  in  grammar.  We  parsed  'Paradise 
Lost.'  Much  of  the  current  college  study  of 
Shakespeare  is  little  better  than  parsing  him. 
The  class  falls  upon  the  text  like  hens  upon  a 
bone  in  winter ;  no  meaning  of  word  or  phrase 
escapes  them,  every  line  is  literally  picked  to 
pieces ;  but  of  the  poet  himself,  of  that  which 
makes  him  what  he  is,  how  much  do  they  get  ? 
Very  little,  I  fear.  They  have  had  an  intellec- 
tual exercise  and  not  an  emotional  experience. 
They  have  added  to  their  knowledge,  but  have 
not  taken  a  step  in  culture.  To  dig  into  the  roots 
and  origins  of  the  great  poets  is  like  digging 
into  the  roots  of  an  oak  or  maple,  the  better  to 
increase  your  appreciation  of  the  beauty  of  the 
tree.  There  stands  the  tree  in  all  its  summer 
glory ,  will  you  really  know  it  any  better  after 
you  have  laid  bare  every  root  and  rootlet? 
There  stand  Homer,  Dante,  Chaucer,  Shake- 
speare. Read  them,  give  yourself  to  them,  and 
master  them  if  you  are  man  enough.  The 
poets  are  not  to  be  analyzed,  they  are  to  be 
enjoyed ;  they  are  not  to  be  studied,  but  to  be 
loved ;  they  are  not  for  knowledge,  but  for  cul- 
ture, to  enhance  our  appreciation  of  life  and  our 


THE  ART   OF  EXPOSITION  169 

mastery  over  its  elements.  All  the  mere  facts 
about  a  poet's  work  are  as  chaff  compared  with 
the  appreciation  of  one  fine  line  or  fine  sentence. 
Why  study  a  great  poet  at  all  after  the  manner 
of  the  dissecting  room  ?  "Why  not  rather  seek 
to  make  the  acquaintance  of  his  living  soul  and 
to  feel  its  power  ?  " 

There  are  things  to  say  about  the  teaching  of 
literature  which  this  article  does  not  consider, 
but  Mr.  Burroughs  is  right  about^the  futility  of 
searching  for  an  emotion  with  a  scalpel^ 

The  exposition  of  terms  by  use  of  definitions, 
themselves  needing  to  be  defined,  is  usually 
futile,  for  it  is  like  an  effort  to  verify  equations 
with  unknown  quantities.  It  is  better  to  rely 
on  illustrations.  Instead,  for  example,  of  defin- 
ing envy  as  "  A  feeling  of  uneasiness,  mortifica- 
tion, or  discontent  excited  by  the  contemplation 
of  another's  superiority,  prosperity,  or  success, 
accompanied  with  some  degree  of  enmity  or 
malignity,  and  often  or  usually  with  a  desire  or 
an  effort  to  discomfit  or  mortify  the  person 
envied," 1  it  is  better  to  ask  a  few  questions, 
thus:  Did  you  ever  hear  of  an  envious  man? 
1  Century  Dictionary. 


170  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

By  what  feelings  did  lie  show  his  envy?  By 
what  actions? 

A  rule  has  been  given  us  for  exposition, 
which  it  were  well  to  heed.  It  is,  "  As  little  as 
possible,  as  much  as  necessary."  l  Exposition 
is  not  an  end,  but  a  means.  Some  teachers  are 
possessed  to  demonstrate  self-evident  proposi- 
tions ;  some  use  a  wilderness  of  words  in  mono- 
logue to  accomplish  what  a  few  questions  would 
better  effect.  Who  has  not  seen  teachers,  not 
to  say  professors,  spending  the  whole  recitation 
hour  day  after  day  in  solving  problems  for  their 
students  ?  These  monologues  in  crayon  are  no 
more  effective  than  monologues  in  words. 

There  are  two  chief  types  of  exposition ; 
namely,  (1)  the  type  that  pertains  to  the  forms 
for  expressing  ideas,  and  (2)  that  which  pertains 
to  the  ideas  themselves. 

Verbal  expositions  relate  to  words,  sentences, 
figures  of  speech,  and  the  like.  Strange  words 
must  be  explained  by  means  of  familiar  ones, 
complicated  grammatical  structure  must  be 
simplified,  long  periods  often  need  to  be 
broken  up  into  short  ones,  highly  figurative 
1  "  So  wenig  wie  moglich,  so  viel  als  notig." 


THE  ART   OF  EXPOSITION  171 

language  must  be  made  plain  by  familiar 
forms  of  speech.  All  the  teacher's  resources 
of  philology,  grammar,  and  rhetoric  are  likely, 
sooner  or  later,  to  be  needed  in  rendering 
language  comprehensible  to  his  pupils. 

The  greatest  need  for  exposition,  however, 
is  in  the  realm  of  reality,  whether  of  thought 
or  of  things.  Ideas,  conceptions,  judgments, 
laws,  principles,  relations,  often  lie  beyond  the 
pupil's  unaided  power  of  comprehension.  A 
political  principle,  for  example,  like  that  of 
local  self-government  can  only  be  truly  ap- 
prehended when  on  the  one  hand  we  see  what 
its  ultimate  consequences  are  for  the  political 
well-being  of  the  people,  and  on  the  other 
what  evils  its  absence  entails. 

In  expositions  of  this  kind  that  which  is 
abstract  must  be  made  concrete  by  appeal 
to  examples,  experiences,  descriptions,  and  the 
like.  Complex  ideas  must  be  analyzed  into 
simple  ones,  objects  must  be  compared  as  to 
their  similarities  and  their  differences,  events 
must  be  examined  both  from  the  standpoint  of 
their  causes  and  their  consequences.  Ancient 
history  is  illuminated  by  showing  its  reflection 


172 


INTEREST  AND   EDUCATION 


in  recent  experience,  while  recent  history  gets 
new  meaning  when  its  elements  are  seen  to 
be  embodied  in  the  history  of  other  times, 
countries,  and  peoples.  Even  so  abstruse  a 
matter  as  a  geometrical  proposition  may  be 
made  much  more  vivid,  first  by  appeal  to 
experience  and  history,  and  then  by  lucid 
presentation  of  essential  points.  Taking  for 
illustration  the  proposition  respecting  the 
square  on  the  hypotenuse  of  a  right  triangle, 
we  may  approach  the  more  vigorous  demon- 
stration by  illustrative  methods,  which  will 
lend  interest  to  the  problem  and  throw  light 
upon  it. 

For  the  first  illustration,  construct  a  mosaic 
in  the  form  of  squares,  as  follows:  It  will  be 


THE  ART   OF   EXPOSITION  173 

seen  that  the  square  on  the  hypotenuse  be 
consists  of  four  triangular  pieces,  and  that 
the  squares  on  the  lines  ab  and  ac  consist  of 
two  such  pieces  each. 

We  gather  from  the  history  of  mathematics 
that  Pythagoras,  whose  name  this  proposition 
bears,  probably  learned  from  the  Egyptians 
that  three  lines  in  the  ratio  of  three,  four,  and 
five  will  make  a  right-angle  triangle.  It  re- 
quires only  a  little  reflection  to  see  that  the 
square  of  five,  the  hypotenuse,  equals  the 
sum  of  the  squares  of  three  and  four.  We 
have  thus  a  second  special  instance  of  the 
truth  of  this  proposition.  It  will  add  to  the 
interest  if  we  relate  the  legend  that,  upon 
making  this  discovery,  Pythagoras  sacrificed 
a  hecatomb  to  celebrate  it. 

Unless  the  teacher  is  in  haste  to  attack  the 
ordinary  Euclidian  demonstration,  it  will  be 
worth  while  to  spend  a  recitation  period  in 
examining  the  ocular  demonstration  made  by 
the  Hindoo,  Bh&skara,  1114,  A.D.  His  figure  is 
constructed  by  allowing  the  square  on  the  hy- 
potenuse to  enclose  the  triangle,  and  in  making 
each  of  the  other  sides  of  the  enclosing  square 


174 


INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 


the  hypotenuse  of  another  inscribed  right  tri- 
angle of  the  same  dimensions  as  the  first.  In 
the  middle  will  remain  a  small  square,  each 
side  of  which  is  the  difference  between  the 
long  and  the  short  leg  of  the  triangle.  The 
figure  is  as  follows :  — 


By  rearranging  these  triangles  into  two 
rectangles  at  right  angles  to  each  other,  with 
the  small  square  placed  in  the  corner,  we  have 
an  ocular  demonstration  which  the  pupils  can 
verify  by  drawing,  cutting  out,  and  rearrang- 
ing. The  whole  area  is  the  sum  of  the  squares 
of  the  two  sides ;  it  is  also  the  square  on  the 
hypotenuse.  Rearranged,  the  figure  is  as 
follows:  — 


THE  ART  OF   EXPOSITION 


175 


The  only  explanation  that  Bhaskara  vouchsafes 
is  the  single  word,  Behold!     It  is  enough. 

Approaching  now  the  regular  Euclidian 
demonstration,  construct  the  triangle  abc  with 
the  squares  lying  outside,  as  follows,  p.  176: 
Drop  the  line  ai  perpendicular  to  c5,  thus 
dividing  the  square  on  the  hypotenuse  into 
two  rectangles.  It  may  be  surmised  that  the 
rectangle  hd  is  equal  to  the  square  £/,  and 
that  the  rectangle  ci  is  equal  to  the  square 
eg.  This  surmise  is  to  be  tested  to  see  if  it 
is  correct. 


176 


INTEREST   AND  EDUCATION 


THE  ART  OF  EXPOSITION  177 

A  good  exposition  in  such  a  case  as  this  will 
not  simply  tell  the  pupils  the  whole  process 
of  proof,  but  will  rather  make  the  essential 
steps  stand  out  one  by  one  as  solvable  prob- 
lems. Such  a  method  gives  the  help  that  is 
needed,  and  withholds  that  which  is  not 
needed.  The  minds  of  the  students  may  well 
be  turned  to  the  following  points:  — 

1.  Are  cf  and  Ig  continuous  straight  lines  ? 
Why? 

2.  Can  the  rectangle  U  and  the  square  bf 
be  compared  directly?    No.     Why  not?     Can 
their    halves,  the    triangles  bhd    and    lea  be 
compared  directly  ?     Why  not  ?  (Not  similar.) 

3.  Is  it  possible  to  make  a  triangle  equal 
to   bdh?    Yes,  Ida.     How  do  you  know  the 
two    triangles    are     equal?      How    can    you 
construct  a  triangle   equal  to   leal     Join   ec. 
Reason  for  equality? 

4.  What  part  of    the    rectangle    bi  is  the 
triangle   bad?      Reason?     What    part    of    the 
square  bf  is  the  triangle  bee?    Reason? 

5.  Is  the  triangle  bad  equal  to  the  triangle 
bee?    Yes.     (Two   sides    and    included    angle 
of  the  one   equal  to  two  sides  and  included 


178  INTEREST  AND   EDUCATION 

angle   of  the  other.)     How  do  you  know  the 
included  angles  are  equal? 

6.  Do  we  know  now  that  the  rectangle  bi  is 
equal  to  the  square  bf?    Why? 

7.  In    a    similar    manner,    prove    that    the 
rectangle  ci  is  equal  to  the  square  eg. 

8.  Are  we  now  sure  that  the  square  on  the 
hypotenuse   be  is   equal   to    the    sum    of    the 
squares  on  the  legs  ba  and  ac?    Reason? 

In  briefer   form  the   real   problems   in   this 
proposition  are:  — 

1.  To   see   that   cf  and  bg  are  respectively 
continuous  straight  lines. 

2.  To   construct  similar  triangles   equal  to 
half  the  rectangle  bi  and  half   the   square   bf. 

3.  To    compare    the    rectangle    bi  and   the 
square   bf  by  comparing   their  halves   to   two 
similar  triangles.      Everything  else   is  merely 
the  application  of  axioms. 


XIV 

THE  ART  OF   QUESTIONING 

To  question  well  is  to  teach  well.  In  the 
skilful  use  of  the  question  more  than  in 
anything  else  lies  the  fine  art  of  teaching ;  for 
in  it  we  have  the  guide  to  clear  and  vivid 
ideas,  the  quick  spur  to  imagination,  the 
stimulus  to  thought,  the  incentive  to  action. 
The  question  leads  us  to  perceive  the  implica- 
tions involved,  but  hitherto  unrecognized,  in 
our  knowledge,  it  helps  us  to  comprehend  the 
principles  underlying  knowledge  and  conduct, 
and  it  enables  us  to  focus  our  minds  in 
recalling  what  we  have  learned. 

To  the  lawyer  the  question  is  a  weapon  of 
offence  and  defence;  to  the  teacher  it  is  a 
means  of  securing  growth,  for  it  can  turn  in- 
difference into  interest,  torpidity  into  activity, 
ignorance  into  knowledge.  By  means  of  the 
question  the  teacher  can  keep  the  mind  of 
the  pupil  up  to  the  growing  point,  making 
179 


180  INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 

it  at  once  alert  and  thoughtful.  The  ques- 
tion is,  in  short,  the  universal  implement  of 
good  teaching,  applicable  to  all  ages  of  pupils 
and  suitable  to  all  stages  of  instruction. 

For  convenience,  questions  may  be  grouped 
into  four  classes,  as  follows:  — 

1.  Analytical, 

2.  Development, 

3.  Review, 

4.  Examination. 

The  purpose  of  the  first  is  to  analyze  knowl- 
edge into  its  elements,  in  order  to  bring  its 
implications  to  consciousness.  From  the  nature 
of  numerator  and  denominator  of  the  common 
fraction,  for  instance,  we  may  easily  derive 
the  methods  of  adding,  subtracting,  multiply- 
ing, and  dividing  fractions.  The  denominator 
shows  the  number  of  parts  into  which  a  unit 
has  been  divided;  hence  shows  the  size  of  the 
parts.  The  numerator  shows  how  many  of 
the  parts  are  taken.  The  value  of  the  frac- 
tion, therefore,  depends  upon  two  things; 
namely,  the  size  of  the  parts  and  their  num- 
ber. Then,  for  example,  to  multiply  the  value 


THE  ART   OF  QUESTIONING  181 

of  the  fraction  we  may  either  multiply  the 
number  of  parts,  which  is  done  by  multiplying 
the  numerator,  or  we  may  multiply  the  size 
of  the  parts,  which  is  done  by  dividing  the  de- 
nominator. Analytical  questions  will  reveal 
all  these  relations  to  the  pupil. 

The  purpose  of  the  development  question 
is  to  aid  the  pupil  in  arriving  at  a  clear 
comprehension  of  classes,  rules,  principles,  and 
other  forms  of  generalization.  It  is  particu- 
larly applicable  in  the  inductive  approach  to 
general  truths,  but  it  is  equally  serviceable  in 
making  verifications  of  principles  that  have 
been  assumed. 

The  purpose  of  review  and  of  examination 
questions  is  evident  from  their  names. 

It  is  self-evident  that  all  questions  should 
be  definite,  comprehensible,  and  thought-pro- 
voking. These  are  general  characteristics 
which  are  always  acknowledged  in  theory, 
though  not  always  secured  in  practice.  It  is 
not  uncommon  for  examiners  of  teachers  to 
ask  for  and  be  satisfied  with  a  mere  enumera- 
tion of  such  qualities.  These  enumerations 
are  as  useless  as  they  are  easy.  Their  value 


182  INTEREST   AND  EDUCATION 

as  guides  to  teaching  is  comparable  to  the 
value  of  the  prescription  for  learning  the 
French  language  in  eleven  days,  which  was 
to  divide  the  French  language  into  eleven 
parts  and  to  learn  one  part  each  day! 

We  get  no  real  light  on  the  art  of  ques- 
tioning until  we  consider  in  detail  the  special 
characteristics  that  make  questions  good  or 
bad.  So  numerous  are  these  that  we  shall 
not  be  able  to  survey  the  field  adequately 
without  a  somewhat  careful  enumeration. 

Special  Characteristics  of  Questions 

1.  Avoid :  (a)  Obscure  expressions ;  as,  What 
are  the   logical   presuppositions  of  a  peaceful 
state  of  mind? 

(6)  Foreign  words  ;  as,  What  was  the  raison 
d^tre  of  the  coup  d'gtat  of  the  third  Napoleon  ? 

(<?)  Technical  expressions ;  as,  What  valence 
does  the  study  of  vegetal  functions  produce? 

(cf)  Figurative  expressions;  as,  What  dread 
portent  does  the  roaring  of  the  lion  body 
forth? 

2.  Avoid   questions   that  are  so   general   as 
to  constitute  world  conundrums;  as, 


THE  ART  OF  QUESTIONING  183 

What  political  institutions  are  founded  upon 
the  principle  of  popular  sovereignty? 

What  is  the  fundamental  principle  of  Chris- 
tianity ? 

What  are  the  presuppositions  of  manhood 
suffrage  ? 

What  is  civilization? 

3.  Avoid  complex  or  obscure  questions;  as, 
Wherein    consisted   the    originality    of    the 

genius  of  Napoleon? 

What  was  the  most  epoch-making  event  of 
the  Franco-Prussian  War? 

Which  phenomena  of  the  fratricidal  strife 
in  the  American  Republic  were  most  deter- 
minative of  the  ultimate  fate  of  the  nation? 

"Who  chased  whom  around  the  walls  of 
what?"1 

4.  Avoid  double  questions;  as, 

What  form  has  the  valley  and  what  kind 
of  a  view  does  it  furnish? 

Who  are  supposed  to  have  blown  up  the 
Maine  and  how  must  a  civilized  people  con- 
sider such  an  act? 

1  Quoted  by  Professor  L.  M.  Salmon  from  an  examination 
paper. 


184  INTEREST   AND  EDUCATION 

Where  is  Ohio  and  how  is  it  bounded? 

5.  Ask  questions  with  correct  emphasis  and 
inflection;  as, 

Will  you  ride  with  me? 
Will  you  ride  with  me  ? 
Will  you  ride  with  me? 
Will  you  ride  with  me?  etc.,  etc. 

6.  Avoid  the   obscurity  caused  by  auxiliary 
clauses  or  confusing  parenthetical  expressions; 
as, 

Do  you  think  that  it  is  expedient,  taking 
into  consideration  the  character  of  the  popula- 
tion, which  as  you  know  has  a  strong  admix- 
ture of  Spanish  blood  and  might  not  be  well 
adapted  to  the  degree  of  self-government 
implied  in  statehood,  for  the  territories  of  New 
Mexico  and  Arizona  to  be  admitted  to  the  Union 
as  states,  especially  as  these  regions  lie  largely 
in  the  arid  section  of  our  country  (you  have 
perhaps  read  how  remote  and  desolate  these 
deserts  are  except  as  they  are  reached  by  rail- 
roads, and  watered  by  artesian  wells  or  by 
water  brought  in  long  irrigating  ditches  from 
mountain  streams,  which  soon  lose  themselves 
in  the  sands  of  the  plains ;  doubtless  you  have 


THE  ART  OF  QUESTIONING  185 

also  heard  of  artesian  wells,  which  are  made 
by  drilling  straight  down  into  the  earth  for 
many  hundreds  of  feet,  only  to  find  in  some  eases 
that  the  water  is  so  strongly  impregnated  by  min- 
erals as  to  be  unfit  for  use)  ?  John  may  answer. 

Remark.  —  Some  teachers  express  their  ideas  in  psy- 
chological rather  than  in  logical  order,  running  on  until 
out  of  breath  and  allowing  one  idea  to  suggest  the  next 
without  regard  to  its  bearing  upon  the  matter  in  hand. 
An  error  akin  to  this  fault  is  the  habit  of  making  super- 
fluous remarks,  hoping  thereby  to  add  vivacity  to  the 
recitation  ;  as)^  want  to  see  now  who  of  this  fine  class,  on 
this  bright  morning,  can  tell  me  what  Mr.  Lincoln,  after 
much  thought  and  not  a  little  earnest  prayer,  and  at  the 
solicitation  of  many  good  citizens,  did  when  the  whole 
country  was  electrified  and  then  thrown  into  profound 
grief  by  the  battle  of  Antietam.  What  bright  boy  or 
girl  is  ready  with  an  answer  that  will  show  that  he  or 
she  understands  the  history  of  our  country  ? 

7.  Avoid  the  obscurity  caused  by  verbs  of 
indefinite  meaning,  such  as,  have,  do,  is, 
happens;  as, 

What  do  soldiers  have  when  they  go  to 
battle?  Ans.  Guns,  clothing,  food,  officers, 
commands,  anxiety,  fortitude,  etc. 

What  does  glass  do  when  it  is  heated? 
Bends,  softens,  expands,  melts. 


186  INTEREST  AND   EDUCATION 

What  is  the  rat?  A  rodent,  a  mammal, 
a  thief,  an  animal,  a  pest. 

What  happens  when  it  rains?  Thunders, 
grows  dark,  water  flows,  rivers  rise,  etc. 

Remark.  —  An  indefinite  question  calls  for  and  de- 
serves an  indefinite  answer. 

8.  Words   that  together  make   up  one  con- 
ception should  not  be  divided  between  question 
and  answer ;  as, 

What  did  he  suffer?    Ans.  Death. 
What  did  the  man  take  ?    Ans.  His  departure. 
How  did  the  man  lie?    Ans.  Dead. 
In  what  did  the  eyes  of  the  audience  swim  ? 
Ans.  Tears. 

What  did  they  roar  with?    Ans.  Laughter. 
What  did  the  child  burst  into  ?     Ans.  Tears. 

9.  Avoid  the   "pumping"   question,  which 
is  still  worse;  as, 

Abraham  was  a  ?  Ans.  Shepherd. 

Wrong.  He  was  a  patri ?  Ans.  Patri- 
arch. 

This  word  is  a  sub ?  Ans.  Subject. 

No.  It  is  a  substan ?  Ans.  Substantive. 

10.  The  question  must  be  in  correct  logical 


THE  AET   OF  QUESTIONING  187 

form.  Several  cases  may  be  distinguished,  as 
follows :  — 

(1)  If  a  particular  is  sought  the  immediate 
universal   should   appear  in   the   question ;  as, 

From  what  metal  (immediate  universal)  are 
ten-dollar  pieces  minted?  Ans.  From  gold 
(a  particular). 

From  what  material  are  bricks  made?  Ans. 
From  clay.  r- 

(2)  Avoid  too  great  universality;  as, 
Where   is  Buffalo  ?     Ans.  In  New  York,  on 

Lake  Erie,  at  the  western  terminus  of  the  Erie 
Canal,  in  the  United  States,  etc.  The  correct 
form  would  be,  In  what  state  is  Buffalo  ?  On 
what  lake  ?  In  what  country  ?  At  the  western 
terminus  of  what  canal  ?  etc. 

(3)  Avoid  vague  questions;  as, 

What  kind  of  a  man  was  Napoleon  Bonaparte  ? 
How    was    the    battle    of    the    Wilderness 
fought? 

How  does  the  dandelion  grow? 

Remark.  —  The  matter  is  not  mended  by  putting  such 
questions  in  the  form  of  a  command ;  as,  Tell  all  you 
can  about  Napoleon,  the  battle  of  the  Wilderness,  the 
dandelion. 


\ 

188  INTEBEST  AND  EDUCATION 

(4)  Avoid  questions  calling    for    modality 
in    general     when    each    case    is    conditioned 
by    the    point  of    view;    as   (in  the    Sunday 
School), 

How  shall  we  view  the  forgiveness  of  sins? 
Ans.  As  possible,  probable,  doubtful,  needful, 
predestined,  certain,  as  dependent  upon  con- 
trition, upon  better  life,  etc. 

Remark.  —  The  correct  form  will  turn  the  mind  tow- 
ard the  answer  desired;  as,  The  forgiveness  of  sins  is 
possible  —  Why  ?  Why  does  the  forgiveness  of  sins  de- 
pend upon  contrition  ? 

(5)  A  question  should  not  be  so  framed  as 
to   call   for  both  cause  and  effect  (ground  and 
consequence) ;  as, 

Why  are  criminals  punished  ?  Ans.  Because 
of  unlawful  deeds,  to  reform  them,  to  protect 
society. 

The  better  way  is  to  call  for  ground  and 
consequence  in  separate  question ;  as, 

On  what  grounds  are  criminals  punished? 
Ans.  Because  of  unlawful  deeds. 

For  what  purpose  are  criminals  punished? 
Ans.  Reformation  in  themselves;  warning  to 
others. 


THE  ART   OF  QUESTIONING  189 

(6)  When     particular     characteristics     are 
called  for,  the    question    must    contain    both 
genus  and  kind;  as, 

What  sort  of  a  dwelling  (#)  is  injurious  to 
health  (&)  ?  Am.  A  damp  (c)  dwelling. 

What  kind  of  an  apple  (#)  sets  the  teeth 
on  edge  (&)?  Ans.  A  sour  (c)  apple. 

(7)  When  the  compass  of  a  notion  is  asked 
for,  the  ground  of  the   classification   must  be 
stated  in  the  question;  as, 

What  classes   of  heavenly  bodies  are  there, 
(a)  with  respect  to  light? 
(5)  with  respect  to  motion? 
(<?)  with  respect  to  magnitude? 

(8)  One  should  be  sparing  of  questions  ask- 
ing for  definitions  (except  perhaps   in  exami- 
nations).    If  definitions  are  desired,  it  is  better 
with   the   younger   pupils    to    state   class   and 
differentia  in  the  question;  as, 

What  is  the  name  of  the  science  that  ex- 
plains the  laws  of  thought?  Ans.  Logic. 

Remark.  —  Correct  definitions  are  hard  to  formulate, 
and  for  children  they  have  small  didactic  use,  except 
so  far  as  they  are  inductively  developed  and  deductively 
applied. 


190  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

11.  Avoid  a  careless  or  weak  use  of  verbs 
in  questions.  It  is  by  means  of  the  verb  that 
we  ask  a  question,  for  the  verb  is  the  bearer  of 
the  thought,  the  controller  of  the  construction. 
Nothing  can  be  asked  by  means  of  the  other  parts 
of  speech.  Several  cautions  may  be  given :  — 

(1)  As  before   indicated,  avoid   the   use   of 
such  colorless  verbs  as  be,  have,  become,  happen, 
and  especially  do;  as, 

What  was  he?  What  did  he  have?  What 
did  the  boy  become?  What  happened  then? 
What  did  he  do?  Such  questions  can  only 
relate  to  memorized  matter;  they  have  no  de- 
veloping power.  For  example,  What  does  a 
man  do  when  he  is  sick?  Ans.  Goes  to  bed, 
sends  for  a  physician,  stops  work,  suffers,  com- 
plains, makes  his  will,  repents  of  his  evil  deeds, 
fears  death,  ceases  to  earn  money,  etc. 

(2)  A  question  otherwise  indefinite  may  be 
made  definite  by  reference  to  some   attendant 
circumstance;  as, 

What  happened  on  the  third  of  July,  1863? 
on  the  fourth  of  July  of  the  same  year?  What 
occurs  to  the  mercury  of  a  thermometer  in 
falling  temperature? 


THE  AKT   OF  QUESTIONING  191 

(3)  Colorless  verbs  may  be  strengthened  by 
the  addition  of  auxiliary  clauses  containing 
strong  verbs;  as, 

What  does  the  nightingale  do  that  is  pleas- 
ing to  us  ?  Ans.  She  sings.  Better,  By  what 
means  does  the  nightingale  give  us  pleasure? 
Ans.  By  her  song. 

What  did  Judas  do  because  of  his  greed? 
Ans.  He  betrayed  his  Lord.  Better,  To  what 
did  greed  impel  Judas? 

Remark.  —  It  is  usually  better  to  avoid  both  colorless 
verb  and  subordinate  clause  by  using  the  strong  verb 
in  a  simple  clause;  as,  What  is  the  earth,  if  we  have 
regard  to  its  form?  Ans.  A  sphere.  Better,  What  is 
the  form  of  the  earth? 

In  general  we  may  say  that  every  question 
should  tend  to  strengthen  the  pupil's  mental 
power  by  inciting  him  to  think;  it  should  fix 
or  extend  his  knowledge  or  increase  his  power 
of  expression.  Consequently  the  teacher  should 
study  to  frame  his  question  so  as  to  stimulate 
clear,  vigorous  thinking;  he  should  avoid  all 
forms  of  question  that  tend  to  confusion  by 
indefiniteness,  or  to  mental  laxity  by  their  too 


192  INTEREST  AND   EDUCATION 

great  universality.  All  questions,  likewise, 
should  be  avoided  that  fail  to  stimulate  thought 
in  that  they  reveal  the  answer  expected. 

The  analytical  and  the  development  questions 
are  the  most  important  and  the  most  difficult. 
By  the  aid  of  the  latter  we  endeavor  to  secure 
in  the  pupil  a  comprehension  of  generalizations 
in  the  form  of  conceptions,  rules,  and  princi- 
ples, which  are  involved  in  the  subject  matter 
taught ;  by  means  of  analytical  questions  we  re- 
solve these  totals  into  their  elements,  in  order 
to  find  characteristics  and  individual  facts.  It 
is  important  that  questions  should  stand  in 
orderly  and  logical  relations,  leaving  no  im- 
passable logical  gaps.  Questions  should  follow 
the  causal  order  when  it  exists,  so  that  one 
will  follow  naturally  after,  or  out  of,  the  other. 
It  is  well  for  the  beginner  occasionally  to  work 
out  beforehand  a  set  of  development  or  ana- 
lytical questions,  or  to  write  out  brief  cate- 
chisms, taking  care  not  to  let  diverting  topics 
and  episodes  lead  him  off  the  main  path. 

It  is  often  important  to  make  evident  that 
which  is  contained  only  by  implication  to  the 
pupil's  knowledge,  to  bring  to  consciousness 


THE  ART   OF  QUESTIONING  193 

that  of  which  he  is  now  unconscious,  to  cor- 
rect misconceptions,  to  illuminate  the  obscure. 
Analytical  questions  which  effect  these  results 
will  often  accompany  or  follow  those  designed 
to  develop  the  generalizations  of  knowledge. 
Both  kinds  of  questions  will  be  used  in  dis- 
cussions of  lessons  in  literature,  in  foreign 
languages,  in  sciences,  and  in  mathematics. 

No  teacher  can  question  successfully  by  rule. 
Facility  comes  only  with  intelligent  practice, 
preceded  by  forethought  and  followed  by  re- 
flection. The  first  helps  us  to  avoid  errors; 
the  latter  helps  us  to  correct  them.  In  the 
course  of  time  one  who  has  a  natural  aptitude 
for  teaching  and  who  tests  and  corrects  his 
own  work  by  study  and  thought,  will  find  that 
the  art  of  questioning  effectively  has  become 
well-nigh  instinctive.  Before  this  facility  has 
been  acquired,  there  is  some  danger  of  becom- 
ing pedantic.  It  is  too  much  to  demand  a 
complete  sentence  for  every  answer,  for  what 
is  good  form  in  social  intercourse  is  not  bad 
form  in  the  school  room.  If  Socrates,  the 
prince  of  questioners,  may  abbreviate  question 
and  answer,  surely  we,  his  humble  successors, 


194  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

may  do  likewise.  Such  questions  as,  Why? 
How  ?  For  what  purpose  ?  To  what  end  ?  In 
what  way  ?  are  often  in  place,  saving  time  and 
promoting  mental  activity. 

It  is  pedantry,  also,  to  banish  all  questions 
that  can  be  answered  by  yes  or  no.  We  need 
only  to  be  sure  that  sufficient  reason  follows  or 
sufficient  experience  or  knowledge  precedes  the 
answer.  In  other  words,  the  yes  or  no  should 
not  be  a  fortunate  or  an  unfortunate  guess. 

A  few  general  rules  may  be  helpful  to  the 
young  teacher.  They  may  be  formulated  as. 
follows :  — 

1.  Questions  should  in  general  be  directed 
to  the  class,  then  to  an  individual;   or  if  in 
the    development   of   a   topic   the   question   is 
directed  to  a  given  pupil,  all  should  feel  that 
they  may  have  an  opportunity  to  tell  what  they 
know  or  at  least  a  responsibility  to  do  so.     In- 
attention begets  listlessness  and  loss  of  interest. 

2.  Pupils   should   be   called   by   name,  and 
not  merely  indicated   by  pointing,  or   by  such 
expressions  as  "you"  or  "you  there." 

3.  Stereotyped    order    in    calling    upon    the 
pupils  should  be  avoided,  for  obvious  reasons. 


THE  ART  OF   QUESTIONING  195 

The  weak  and  the  lazy,  moreover,  need  to  be 
called  upon  most,  but  the  able  need  and 
deserve  to  have  frequent  opportunity  to  re- 
cite. The  abler  pupils  may  be  called  upon  to 
correct  and  to  help. 

4.  Questions  should  be  asked  in  clear,  audi- 
ble tones,  but  shrillness   and   undue   loudness 
are  to  be  avoided,  since  they  are  the  index  of 
artificiality,   even   if  they   do   not   indicate    a 
lack  of  culture. 

5.  Where  the  answer  demands  reflection,  an 
adequate  time  should  be  granted.     Unless  the 
question  is  a  mere  call  for  information,  it  may 
be    recast,    if    it   does    not   meet   with    ready 
response. 

6.  When  questions  are  put  for  the  sake  of 
drill,  or  of  recitation  upon  memorized  matter, 
they  should  be  asked  with  force  and  rapidity. 
Children  are  fond  of  stirring  exercises,  espe- 
cially in   reciting   the   multiplication   table   or 
in  making  rapid  computations  or  in  drill  upon 
inflections. 

The   answer   is   the   natural  counterpart   to 
the  question.     Each  would  be  incomplete  with- 


196  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

out  the  other.  A  good  question  deserves  a 
good  answer,  although  the  art  of  securing 
good  answers  is  not  always  practised. 

So  far  as  vocal  characteristics  are  concerned, 
the  answer  should  be  made  in  good,  clear, 
audible  tones,  corresponding  in  tension  to  the 
state  of  the  teacher's  mind,  never  in  a  whisper 
or  a  flutter  of  vocalized  breath.  The  'school 
tone '  is  as  bad  in  the  pupil  as  in  the  teacher, 
for  it  ruins  the  voice,  deadens  the  thought, 
and  impairs  the  development  of  character. 
Americans,  especially  of  the  North  and  East, 
are  reputed  to  have  the  worst  voices  in  the 
world ;  it  is  certain  that  they  are  often  harsh, 
high,  shrill,  rasping,  or  nasal.  Doubtless  a 
capricious  and  trying  climate  has  much  to  do 
in  effecting  these  results;  but  not  a  little  of 
the  fault  lies  with  the  public  school,  where 
children  are  taught  at  high  tension,  often  in 
chalk-laden  and  vitiated  air.  To  make  them- 
selves heard  in  large  and  often  noisy  rooms, 
the  pupils  are  admonished  to  "speak  up," 
until  after  a  time  a  voice,  naturally  musical 
and  low,  is  permanently  pitched  to  produce 
loud,  high,  and  monotonous  tones.  The  North 


THE   ART   OF  QUESTIONING  197 

has  public  schools,  bad  climate,  and  wretched 
voices ;  the  South  has  low,  musical  voices, 
mild  climate,  and  public  schools  only  one  gen- 
eration old.  It  would  involve  rather  a  nice 
calculation  to  apportion  causes  adequately  in 
the  two  cases,  but  one  needs  only  to  remem- 
ber one's  own  school  days  and  to  visit  schools 
to  convince  one's  self  that  bad  use  of  the 
voice  both  by  teacher  and  pupil  is  largely  re- 
sponsible for  our  defective  voices. 

If  teachers  would  learn  how  to  use  their  own 
voices,  making  them  low,  strong,  musical,  and 
non-nasal,  and  then  give  systematic  voice  cul- 
ture to  their  pupils,  our  musical  ability  as  a 
nation  would  be  enhanced,  and  the  joy  of  living 
be  sensibly  increased.  We  teach  our  pupils 
Latin  and  Greek  in  order  to  give  them  cul- 
ture. To  some  extent  our  efforts  are  success- 
ful ;;  but  culture  of  the  voice,  which  manifests 
itself  with  every  utterance,  is  more  universal 
in  its  effects  and  more  to  be  admired  than 

*N 

the  culture  of  the  intellect.  In  daily  inter- 
course, who  would  not  prefer  sweet,  mellow 
tones  of  voice  to  all  the  learning  that  could  be 
crammed  into  the  mind  ?  Such  a  voice  is 


198  INTEREST  AND   EDUCATION 

nature's  best  gift,  especially  to  women,  and  it 
is  art's  choicest  achievement.  Teachers  should 
develop  both  the  voice  consciousness  and  the 
voice  conscience,  a  keen  sensibility  to  the 
ugly  in  tone,  and  a  determination  that  is 
second  nature  to  prevent  it  or  to  eradicate  it 
whenever  it  appears. 

If,  in  asking  questions  which  are  designed 
to  analyze  or  to  develop  a  subject  of  thought, 
it  is  found  that  the  pupils  cannot  answer 
readily,  the  teacher  should  scrutinize  his  ques- 
tion to  find  the  cause  of  the  failure.  Of 
course,  in  calling  for  memorized  matter,  it  may 
be  assumed  that  the  children  do  not  know  if 
they  cannot  answer;  but  a  variety  of  causes 
may  prevent  ready  response  when  the  teacher 
seeks  merely  to  unfold  ideas.  It  may  be  that 
the  class  is  timid,  either  because  the  surround- 
ings are  new  and  strange,  or  because  the 
teacher  himself  paralyzes  their  efforts.  Again, 
the  pupils  may  be  inattentive  because  the 
teacher  is  prolix  or  uninteresting,  or  because 
the  air  is  bad  or  their  brains  are  fatigued  ; 
or  it  is  possible  that  they  do  not  know  the 
end  the  teacher  is  trying  to  reach,  in  which 


THE   ART   OF  QUESTIONING  199 

<?ase  their  minds  are  like  sailboats  without 
rudders. 

Sometimes  haste  to  answer  causes  errors. 
The  young  love  to  answer  instantly,  and  this 
is  no  crime.  In  such  cases  the  teacher  may 
repeat  the  question,  and  await  a  better 
answer.  If  a  pupil  appears  incorrigible  in 
his  rattle -brained  answers,  let  him  write  them 
for  a  time  upon  the  board  or  upon  paper. 
This  device  secures  the  needed  time  for  reflec- 
tion. Should  the  answer  be  so  bad  as  to  be 
laughable,  it  is  best  for  the  teacher  not  to  join 
in  the  laugh  unless  there  is  something  really 
funny  about  it,  but  to  try  to  teach  him  a  better 
way  to  reply.  Impatience  should  not  vent 
itself  in  ridicule  or  scorn.  Only  impertinence 
deserves  such  treatment. 

A  topic  equal  in  importance  to  the  use  and 
misuse  of  the  voice  is  the  development  of,  or 
the  failure  to  develop,  good  English  through 
the  answers  given  by  the  pupils.  With  small 
children  it  is  well  to  encourage  in  every  way 
the  habit  of  answering  in  full  sentences,  not  of 
a  stereotyped  form,  but  such  as  will  teach  com- 
pleteness and  continuity  of  thought.  With 


200  INTEREST  AND   EDUCATION 

older  students  the  forms  of  good  society  are 
the  most  natural  and  effective. 

Sometimes  the  teacher  becomes  reconciled 
to  receive  mere  fragmentary  answers  to  ques- 
tions; as, 

Where  do  we  find  the  arid  regions  of  our 
country?  Ans.  West. 

By  what  means  do  the  people  supply  water 
to  the  land?  Ans.  Irrigation  and  artesian 
wells. 

What  caused  the  suffering  at  Valley  Forge  ? 
Ans.  Lack  of  food  and  clothing. 

How  old  was  Christ  when  for  the  first  time 
he  discoursed  with  the  doctors  in  the  temple/ 
Ans.  Twelve. 

The  ejection  of  detached  words  does  not  con- 
duce to  a  mastery  of  the  English  tongue.  It 
is  common  for  teachers  to  make  minor  or  occa- 
sional corrections,  without  bringing  about  a 
regular  connection  between  matter  and  form. 
It  thus  becomes  possible  for  children  to  pass 
through  our  public  schools  without  ever  acquir- 
ing the  power  of  connected  and  correct  speech 
upon  any  subject.  This  incapacity  is  enhanced 
if  the  teacher  never  calls  upon  the  child  for 


THE   ART   OF  QUESTIONING  201 

connected  discourse,  but  relies  upon  questions 
that  may  be  answered  by  very  brief  sentences 
or  even  by  their  detached  fragments.  Every 
child  should  have  frequent  incentives  to  answer 
in  a  group  of  well-articulated  sentences.  His 
training  in  the  use  of  oral  English  should  not 
depend  upon  training  in  subjects  specifically 
denominated  "English,"  but  should  extend  to 
all  subjects,  mathematics,  and  science,  not  less 
than  to  language  and  literature. 

However  important  the  method  of  question 
and  answer  may  be,  it  should  not  blind  us  to 
the  need  of  alternating  catechism  with  other 
forms  of  instruction.  Description,  narration, 
and  exposition  are  not  to  become  insignificant 
because  the  value  of  the  question  is  magnified. 
An  interchange  of  these  methods  contributes 
to  freshness  and  interest.  When  all  the  music 
is  made  on  one  string  it  is  sure  to  become 
monotonous. 

When  exposition  has  made  a  definite  point, 
or  has  advanced  a  distinct  step  in  the  develop- 
ment of  a  subject,  the  question  helps  to  reen- 
force  what  has  been  accomplished.  It  tends  to 


202  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

clarify  the  pupil's  knowledge,  helping  him  to 
assimilate  and  to  remember  what  he  has  par- 
tially learned,  and  it  lays  a  firmer  basis  for 
further  elucidation  of  the  subject.  It  is  not  an 
uncommon  error  to  present  too  great  masses 
of  new  knowledge,  without  making  sure  that 
the  pupil  has  comprehended  what  has  been  put 
before  him.  This  is  particularly  true  in  mathe- 
matics and  physics,  where  far-reaching  prin- 
ciples are  involved,  and  where  the  mastery 
of  each  step  in  turn  is  the  condition  of  se- 
cure advance.  Nothing  equals  the  catechetical 
method  for  helping  the  student  to  grasp 
each  principle,  and  to  make  sure  that  he  is 
not  dropping  out  elements  essential  for  his 
future  progress. 

There  is  much  room  for  choice  of  method 
when  there  is  partial  knowledge  present  re- 
specting any  principle  of  grammar,  mathemat- 
ics, or  science  that  is  to  be  established.  It 
should  be  understood  that  exposition  takes  less 
time  than  catechism,  but  at  some  sacrifice  of 
the  student's  self-activity.  If  the  teacher  habit- 
ually does  much  and  the  student  little,  torpid- 
ity will  soon  become  the  ruling  state  of  mind 


THE  ART  OF  QUESTIONING  203 

for  the  pupil.  On  the  other  hand,  catechism 
promotes  self-activity,  but  it  may  easily  sacrifice 
time.  We  need  therefore  to  strike  a  just  bal- 
ance, promoting  self-activity,  keeping  interest 
alive,  and  yet  making  rapid  and  substantial 
progress. 

If  catechism  were  our  sole  reliance,  it  would 
fail  to  cultivate  the  habit  of  continuous  speech. 
For  this  reason  we  must  not  forget  narration, 
while  applying  the  mental  whetstone  by  means 
of  questions.  In  the  interests  of  connected 
speech  one  should  refrain  from  tripping  the 
pupil  with  disconcerting  questions.  A  race 
over  obstacles  may  be  diverting,  but  it  does  not 
conduce  to  steady  advance.  It  is  even  better 
to  permit  the  pupil  to  blunder  through  to  the 
end  of  his  recitation,  than  to  interrupt  him 
perpetually  with  questions  calculated  to  ob- 
struct the  current  of  his  thought.  Sometimes 
teachers  are  so  impatient  to  obtain  immediate 
results  that  they  find  it  impossible  to  wait. 

A  school  considered  by  many  as  one  of  the 
best  in  the  United  States  is  that  which  was  con- 
ducted by  the  late  Charles  L.  Howard  of  St. 
Louis.  Not  a  little  of  its  excellence  consists  in 


204  INTEREST   AND  EDUCATION 

the  fact  that  the  teachers  have  developed  the 
power  to  wait  for  the  pupil  to  do  his  thinking. 
A  visitor  one  day,  having  passed  through  this 
school,  expressed  himself  as  well  pleased  with  all 
he  had  seen  excepting  one  room,  where  he  said 
everything  was  "dead."  It  chanced  that  dur- 
ing his  brief  stay  in  that  room  nothing  was 
said.  The  teacher  stood  silent  looking  at  the 
pupil,  and  the  pupil  stood  silent  looking  at 
the  floor.  To  outward  appearances  nobody  was 
doing  anything.  The  principal  invited  the 
visitor  to  go  with  him  again  to  the  room  in 
question.  The  same  class  was  still  reciting. 
After  listening  a  few  moments,  the  visitor  dis- 
covered that  the  pupils  were  engaged  in  numer- 
ical computations  so  complex  and  so  rapid  that 
he  had  difficulty  in  keeping  up  with  the  pace 
set  by  the  children.  He  came  to  the  conclusion 
that,  though  death  always  means  silence,  silence 
does  not  always  mean  death. 


XV 
INTEREST  AND  THINKING 

IN  all  cases  of  mediate  interest,  as  we  saw 
in  Section  IV,  the  end  and  the  means  for  reach- 
ing it  do  not  coincide  in  time.  A  series  of 
intervening  activities  separates  the  self  and 
the  goal  toward  which  the  self  strives.  We 
have  the  precise  counterpart  of  this  condition 
•when  we  seek  to  have  our  pupils  think. 

To  most  readers  of  educational  literature 
the  admonition  to  make  the  pupil  "think" 
brings  to  mind  such  words  as  analysis  and 
synthesis,  induction  and  deduction,  or  it  suggests 
painful  thoughts  about  the  syllogism  and  the 
rules  of  logic.  The  matter,  however,  is  not 
so  serious,  provided  we  divest  our  minds  of 
the  prevalent  impression  that  thinking  is  the 
performance  of  some  abstract  process,  pre- 
sumably of  great  virtue,  but  of  whose  precise 
nature  we  are  somewhat  uncertain.  All  school 
thinking,  at  least  of  elementary  grade,  is 

205 


206  INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 

V  nothing  more  than  the  solution  of  concrete 
problems,  in  which  the  problem  is  the  end  to 
be  reached,  and  the  process  of  the  solution  is 
nothing  more  than  the  series  of  activities  inter- 
vening between  the  self  and  the  end  desired. 
xy  As  soon  as  school  work  assumes  the  form  of 
problems  to  be  solved  by  the  self-activity  of 
the  pupils,  we  have  at  once  a  concrete  appli- 
cation of  the  doctrine  of  interest,  provided, 
of  course,  that  we  can  make  the  end  seem  to 
the  pupil  worth  striving  for,  and  can  render 
it  natural  for  the  interest  to  cling  to  the  steps 
of  the  solution  as  well  as  to  the  attainment  of 
the  end.  But  it  is  to  this  form  of  work  that 
children  most  readily  respond.  If  supplied 
with  suitable  books  of  reference,  what  could 
be  more  delightful  for  members  of  the  history 
class  than  to  study  out  answers  to  such  ques- 
tions as  the  following:  How  did  the  colonists 
construct  their  first  dwellings  ?  Had  they 
nails?  locks?  door-knobs?  hinges?  window 
glass?  bricks?  shingles?  How  may  the  beds 
have  been  constructed?  the  tables?  the 
chairs?  Of  what  were  the  spoons  made? 
the  plates  ?  Were  the  colonists  supplied  with 


INTEREST  AND  THINKING  207 

stoves?  matches?  canned  vegetables  or  fruits? 
How  did  they  manage  to  get  on  without 
these  useful  articles?  What  kind  of  ploughs 
and  other  farm  implements  had  the  colonists? 
How  did  they  cut  and  thresh  their  wheat  and 
rye  ?  What  facilities  had  they  for  travel,  such 
as  roads  and  vehicles  ?  Compare  the  guns  of 
the  colonial  period  with  those  of  the  present. 
What  pleasures  had  these  people  that  we  per- 
haps lack?  What  hardships  did  they  suffer  that 
we  do  not  have  to  endure?  Compare  the 
purposes  of  the  English  explorers  with  those 
of  the  French ;  the  Spanish.  Contrast  the 
French  settlements  with  those  of  the  English. 
Why  should  the  Indians  often  look  with  more 
favor  upon  the  French  settler  than  upon  the 
English? 

Teachers  need  not  be  dismayed  at  the 
thought  of  setting  such  problems  before  their 
pupils  because  of  lack  of  books.  In  the  first 
place,  it  is  not  so  hard  to  get  books  as  it 
once  was.  In  many  places  state  or  city 
libraries  are  placed  at  the  disposition  of  the 
schools.  In  New  York  and  other  states  books 
are  sent  upon  request  from  the  state  library, 


208  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

and  may  be  kept  for  considerable  periods  of 
time.  Home  libraries  often  contain  useful 
books  which  the  children  may  consult,  or  the 
school  library  may  possess  unexpected  facilities 
for  investigation ;  or,  provided  none  of  these 
sources  are  available,  the  few  books  the  teacher 
has,  supplemented  by  her  knowledge  and  re- 
sourcefulness, will  enable  any  history  class  to 
take  advantage  of  the  method  of  the  problem. 
Even  if  there  is  but  one  text-book  to  be  had, 
and  that  a  mere  skeleton  of  history,  the  teacher 
may  set  problems  daily  which  may  be  solved  by 
mother  wit,  supplemented  by  home  experience. 
Most  men  of  the  age  of  fifty  know  from  per- 
sonal experience  much  concerning  life  under 
primitive  conditions. 

Every  time  a  pupil  works  out  a  problem,  no 
matter  how  simple  and  concrete,  he  performs 
a  genuine  exercise  in  thinking,  and,  what  is 
still  more  important,  he  conforms  to  the  con- 
ditions of  normal,  healthy  interest.  It  is  the 
bane  of  much  of  our  school  work  that  it  is 
prepared  for  unthinking  mass  absorption.  It 
is  adjusted  to  uniform  consumption  with  just 
so  much  each  day,  each  term.  The  pupil  can 


INTEREST  AND   THINKING  209 

only  memorize  and  recite.  He  has  no  oppor- 
tunity, not  to  say  incentive,  to  work  things 
out  in  accordance  with  his  own  initiative,  and 
by  his  own  ingenuity.  Thinking  is,  however, 
a  vital  element  in  genuine  interest,  since  it 
contains  the  idea  of  an  end  to  be  reached  by 
a  series  of  activities. 

It  is  unfortunate  for  the  school  that  current 
misconception  attaches  the  idea  of  thinking 
almost  entirely  to  the  enforced  activity  of  the 
will.  '  Voluntary '  attention  is  thought  to 
be  the  result  of  unpleasant  effort,  the  dead 
strain  of  determination.  Even  Professor  Ribot 
appears,  from  the  following,  to  hold  this  errone- 
ous opinion : l  — 

"  Voluntary  or  artificial  attention  is  a  product 
of  art,  of  education,  of  direction,  and  of  train- 
ing. It  is  grafted,  as  it  were,  upon  spontaneous 
or  natural  attention,  and  finds  in  the  latter 
its  condition  of  existence,  as  the  graft  does 
in  the  stalk  into  which  it  has  been  inserted. 
In  spontaneous  attention  the  object  acts  by  its 
intrinsic  power;  in  voluntary  attention  the  sub- 
ject acts  through  extrinsic,  that  is,  through 

1 "  The  Psychology  of  Attention,"  p.  35. 
p 


210  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

superadded  powers.  In  voluntary  attention  the 
aim  is  no  longer  set  by  hazard  or  circumstances ; 
it  is  willed,  chosen,  accepted,  or,  at  least,  sub- 
mitted to ;  it  is  mainly  a  question  of  adapting 
ourselves  to  it,  and  of  finding  the  proper  means 
for  maintaining  the  state ;  and  hence,  voluntary 
attention  is  always  accompanied  by  a  certain 
feeling  of  effort.  The  maximum  of  spontaneous 
attention  and  the  maximum  of  voluntary  attention 
are  totally  antithetic :  the  one  running  in  the 
direction  of  the  strongest  attraction,  and  the 
other  in  the  direction  of  the  greatest  resistance. 
They  constitute  the  two  polar  limits  between 
which  all  possible  degrees  are  found,  with  a 
definite  point  at  which,  in  theory  at  least,  the 
two  forms  meet." 

The  lines  in  italics  express  the  common 
idea ;  namely,  that  interest  has  alone  to  do 
with  the  mental  state  arising  from  the  con- 
stantly renewed  stimulus  that  sustains  invol- 
untary or  spontaneous  attention;  and  that 
thought,  which  comes  from  voluntary  atten- 
tion, is  something  foreign  to  interest.  A 
careful  reading  of  Dr.  Dewey's  theory  of 
interest  should  convince  one  that  the  com- 


INTEREST  AND   THINKING  211 

mon  view  is  an  erroneous  one,  and  that 
interest  is  never  so  potent  as  when  it  is 
associated  with  will-impelled  thought.  In- 
terest, voluntary  %ftention,  and  thinking  are 
synonymous  terms,  to  the  extent  that  they 
belong  together,  presupposing  and  supple- 
menting one  another  in  the  solution  of 
concrete  thought  problems.  It  is  only  the 
pressure  of  mass  instruction  that  has  con- 
cealed from  us  this  intimate  and  important 
identity  between  interest  and  voluntarily 
directed  attention  to  the  solution  of  self- 
selected,  or  at  all  events  self-welcomed, 
problems.  It  is  the  memorizing  of  ready- 
made  answers,  required  or  anticipated,  that 
dulls  the  thought  powers  of  the  child.  The 
story  is  told  of  a  little  girl  who  was  memo- 
rizing the  answers  to  a  set  of  geography 
questions,  among  which  was  the  following 
question  accompanied  by  its  answer:  Do  the 
stars  shine  by  day  as  well  as  by  night  ?  Ans. 
They  do.  She  sat  with  her  head  in  her  hands, 
swaying  to  and  fro  and  repeating  the  answer: 
They  do,  they  do,  they  do  —  they  do,  they  do, 
they  do.  Though  doubtless  an  exaggeration, 


212  INTEREST   AND  EDUCATION 

this    incident     shows    how     memorizing     may 
inhibit  thinking. 

Nothing  could  be  more  useful  to  teachers 
desiring  to  utilize  and  develop  the  thought 
powers  of  the  children  under  their  charge 
than  the  study  of  the  processes  whereby 
scientists  have  found  adequate  explanations 
of  facts  and  events  that  had  long  puzzled 
their  predecessors.  The  explanation  of  so 
familiar  a  thing  as  fire  baffled  many  a  gen- 
eration of  thinkers.  For  a  long  time  many 
philosophers  had  to  content  themselves  with 
an  explanation  that  did  not  explain.  They 
fancied  that  a  subtile,  intangible,  and  un- 
known principle  named  phlogiston  exists  in 
combustible  materials  and  is  the  cause  of  fire. 
So  evident,  however,  is  the  fact  that  the 
attempt  to  explain  the  known  by  means  of 
the  unknown  is  a  mere  self-deception,  that 
earnest  thinkers  never  pause  until  they  find 
the  true  cause,  as  they  did  in  the  case  of 
fire.  Again,  it  is  well  known  that  for 
fifteen  hundred  years  alchemists  and  chemists 
sought  a  means  whereby  the  base  metals  might 
be  transmuted  into  gold.  The  persistence  of 


INTEREST  AND   THINKING  213 

this  effort  was  due  to  a  defective  atomic 
theory  left  us  by  Democritus  and  other 
ancient  philosophers.  They  conceived  that 
all  atoms  are  qualitatively  alike,  and  that 
bodies  differ,  therefore,  only  in  the  arrange- 
ment of  their  atoms.  Were  this  true,  there 
would  be  no  absurdity  in  seeking  so  to 
rearrange  the  atoms  of  iron  that  they  would 
form  gold. 

The  point  to  be  observed  in  these  and  all 
other  efforts  to  find  true  explanations  is  that 
there  is  a  distinct  problem  to  be  solved,  a  dis- 
tant goal  to  be  reached,  and  that  the  interest 
in  the  end  is  always  carried  back  into  the 
experiments  and  researches  deemed  necessary 
to  reach  the  solution.  The  great  outside 
macrocosm  of  science  becomes  the  prototype 
and  guiding  ideal  for  the  microcosm  of  the 
individual  mind.  By  this  it  must  not  be 
inferred  that  the  school  is  to  become  a 
mere  after-image  of  the  world  of  science, 
where  mere  shadow  or  imitation  discoveries 
are  to  be  made,  and  in  which  the  discovery 
is  only  a  pale  repetition  of  what  has  already 
been  accomplished.  The  school  may,  however, 


214  INTEREST   AND  EDUCATION 

borrow  something  of  the  method  of  science, 
may  enjoy  the  same  kind  of  motives,  in  that 
the  pupil,  like  the  scientist,  has  a  problem, 
requiring  the  adaptation  of  means  to  end,  and 
capable  of  arousing  the  most  earnest  effort, 
not  to  say  enthusiasm. 

Among  the  many  problems  that  attracted 
the  early  attention  of  thinkers,  and  whose 
solution  is  suggestive  to  teachers,  was  the 
phenomenon  of  dew.  It  was  a  matter  of 
universal  experience,  yet  nobody  seemed  able 
to  give  a  satisfactory  explanation  of  it.  The 
most  remarkable  thing  about  it  is  that  there 
are  men  still  living  who  were  born  before 
it  was  thoroughly  understood.  The  Romans 
fancied,  that  since  dew  falls  only  on  clear 
nights,  it  must  be  some  sort  of  emanation 
from  the  distant  heavens,  possibly  of  the 
stars;  and  the  Roman  ladies,  sharing  this 
belief,  used  to  bathe  their  faces  in  dew  to 
improve  their  complexions.  They  seemed  to 
imagine  that  something  of  the  celestial  ra- 
diance belonging  to  those  remote  spheres 
from  which  they  thought  the  dew  emanated 
would  be  imparted  to  their  own  countenances. 


INTEREST  AND  THINKING  215 

The  true  theory  of  the  cause  of  dew  was 
first  set  forth  in  complete  form  by  William 
Charles  Wells  of  London,  in  1814.  Since  that 
time,  at  least  three  important  writers,  namely, 
Sir  John  Herschel,  John  Stuart  Mill,  and  Alex- 
ander Bain,  have  used  the  history  of  the  dis- 
covery of  the  cause  of  dew  to  illustrate  the 
processes  of  thought. 

The  stages  in  the  scientific  aspects  of  this 
investigation  are  substantially  as  follows:  — 

1.  It  must   first  be   clearly  understood   just 
what  the  problem  is,  namely,  the   explanation 
of    the    cause   of    the    moisture    that    gathers 
upon   objects  at  night,  and  which   is   not  due 
to    rain,   fog,   mist,    or   snow.     This    moisture 
is  deposited  when  there  is  none  visible  in  the 
sky,    that   is,   on   clear   nights.     An   effect   is 
given,  therefore,  whose   cause   it  is  our  prob- 
lem to  discover. 

2.  The  first  thing  that  is  done  in  nearly  all 
efforts  at  discovery  is  to  examine  the  attend- 
ant  circumstances  to  see  if  thereby  some  rea- 
sonable   explanation  is  not  suggested.      Two 
such  circumstances  at  once   occur  to  us:   dew 
falls  at  night,  and  it  also  falls  in  that  part  of 


216  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

the  twenty-four  hours  when  it  is  coldest. 
Two  possible  causes  are  therefore  suggested, 
darkness  and  cold.  The  first  of  these  we  may 
at  once  eliminate,  because  on  the  darkest 
nights,  when  the  sky  is  covered  by  clouds, 
dew  does  not  usually  fall;  furthermore,  there 
is  no  apparent  likeness  between  moisture  and 
the  absence  of  light.  Let  us  therefore  exam- 
ine the  other  attendant  circumstance  to  see 
if  a  cause  is  not  thereby  suggested. 

3.  Several    analogies  at  once  occur  to  us. 
Moisture  gathers  when  we  breathe  on  cold  glass 
or  metal,  or  when  we  pour  cold  water  into  a 
glass   or  pitcher   on   a  hot   day,  or   in   a  hot 
room.     It  also  gathers  upon  the  window-panes 
of   crowded  rooms  when   the  outside   tempera- 
ture is  cold,  and  upon  walls  of  outer  passages 
when  a  moist  thaw  succeeds  frost. 

4.  Let  us   therefore  try  cooling  down  vari- 
ous surfaces  under  varying  conditions.     Lay  a 
thermometer    on    dewy    grass    at    night,    and 
hang    another   in    the    air    at    some    distance 
above  the  ground.      This  experiment  we   may 
repeat  on   many  successive   nights.      We  find 
that  it  is  always  cooler  on  the  grass  than  it  is 


INTEREST   AND   THINKING  217 

above  it.  It  naturally  occurs  to  us  to  try  the 
same  experiment  on  nights  when  there  is  no 
dew.  Here  we  encounter  a  difficulty,  for  the 
grass  may  still  be  cooler  than  the  air  above 
it,  and  yet  there  be  no  dew.  Evidently  there 
is  something  more  than  the  mere  difference 
in  temperature  to  be  taken  into  consideration. 

5.  It   is   a   matter   of   common    observation 
that   dew   gathers   on   some    objects   but  does 
not  upon  others.      Can  it  be  that   the  materi- 
als themselves   have   anything  to  do  with   the 
phenomenon?      Let    us    try    various    objects, 
such  as  metals,  glass,  stone,  wood,  cloth,  wool, 
cotton,  etc.,  with  this  question  before  us:  Does 
the    temperature    of    objects    vary    with    the 
amount  of  dew  they  gather? 

6.  At  this   point  the   inquirer  is   aided  by 
the   researches   of  Sir   John    Leslie   upon   the 
law  of  the   radiation  of  heat,  which  is  as  fol- 
lows:   The    rate    of    becoming    dewed   varies 
with  the   conducting  power   of   the   substance. 
That  is,  objects   that   are   good   conductors  of 
heat    do    not    readily    become    dewed,    while 
objects   that  are   poor   conductors  gather  dew 
in  proportion  to  their  badness  as  conductors. 


218  INTEREST   AND  EDUCATION 

7.  Let   us   further    inquire   to   what   extent 
the  character  of  the  surface  operates,  the  sub- 
stance remaining  the  same.     Leslie  found  that 
rough  surfaces  gather   dew  more   rapidly  than 
smooth    ones,    because    they    radiate    internal 
heat  more  readily.      In  the  meantime  another 
set   of   experiments   may  be    made   upon   tex- 
ture, as  seen  in  metals,  stone,  wood,   velvet, 
eiderdown,   cotton,   etc.      We   find   that  com- 
pact bodies  are  but  little  dewed,  whereas  loose 
textures   have   much   dew.      Now,   as   regards 
heat,  we   find   that   loose   bodies   are  bad  con- 
ductors.    They  resist  the  passage  of  heat,  and 
hence  are  suitable  as  clothing. 

8.  Gathering  up  the  results  of  these  experi- 
ments, we  find  that   surfaces   are   cooled  by  a 
cool  contact,  but   that,   if   the   surface  is  sup- 
plied with  heat   from  within,  there   can  be  no 
permanent  cooling  of  the  outside  until  the  in- 
ternal heat  is  exhausted.      Furthermore,  good 
radiation  brings  about  surface  cooling,  but  bad 
radiation,   as   in  the   case   of  polished   metals, 
means    the    retention    of    surface    heat.      We 
come    therefore    to    the    conclusion    that    the 
thermometer   would    show,  namely,    that  sur- 


INTEREST  AND   THINKING  219 

faces  gather  dew  as  they  fall  in  temperature. 
We  seem,  therefore,  at  this  stage  to  have 
found  an  invariable  connection  between  dew 
and  temperature. 

9.  Yet  we   meet  a   serious   obstacle   in  the 
fact  that   the    same   fall   of  temperature   does 
not    always   bring   dew,   since    there   are    cool 
nights  when  none  falls.     It  would  be  difficult, 
therefore,   to   establish    the   cause    of  dew  by 
temperature   experiments  alone.      As  a  matter 
of    historic   fact,    the   explanation   was   finally 
cleared    up    through     the     aid     furnished    in 
another  department  of  science. 

10.  In   1799    Dalton    published   his    theory 
of    aqueous    vapor,   or   atmosphere   of    steam, 
which  was  the  missing   link  in  the  dew  prob- 
lem.    He  found  that   the  vapor  in  the  atmos- 
phere varies  according   to   circumstances,   and 
that  the  amount  the   atmosphere  is  capable  of 
holding    depends    upon   temperature,   to   each 
degree  of  which  a  certain  amount  corresponds. 
An   amount   equal  to  one   inch  of   mercury  is 
sustained  at  80°,  half  an  inch  at  59°.     When 
the  air  has  as  much   moisture  as  it  is  capable 
of  containing  it  is  said  to  be  saturated.    Then, 


220  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

supposing  the  air  to  be  saturated  at  any  mo- 
ment, a  fall  in  temperature  will  lead  to  pre- 
cipitation as  visible  moisture,  but  since  the 
air  is  not  always  saturated,  not  every  fall  in 
temperature  will  bring  dew  or  mist.  The 
point  of  saturation  is  therefore  called  the  dew- 
point. 

11.  These  experiments  upon  temperature, 
when  combined  with  this  application  of  the 
law  of  aqueous  humor  in  the  atmosphere, 
completely  explained  the  cause  of  dew,  one  of 
the  puzzles  of  the  centuries.  It  became  pos- 
sible to  explain  many  attendant  influences, 
like  those  of  clouds,  trees,  intervening  surfaces, 
and  the  like. 

It  is  now  possible  for  any  teacher  to  make  any 
child  intelligent  upon  this  subject,  of  which 
the  greatest  scientists  were  once  unable  to  give 
a  satisfactory  account;  but  the  educational 
value  of  this  revelation  to  the  pupil  depends 
upon  the  manner  in  which  it  is  made. 

The  first  and  worst  method  might  be  to  pre- 
sent the  subject  after  the  manner  of  the  diction- 
ary ;  that  is,  by  definition.  For  example :  — 

1.    Webster :  "  Moisture  from  the  atmosphere 


INTEREST   AND   THINKING  221 

condensed  by  cool  bodies  upon  their  surfaces, 
particularly  at  night." 

2.  The  Standard :  "  Moisture  condensed  from 
the   atmosphere   and   gathered   in  small  drops 
upon  the  upper  surfaces  of   plants   and  other 
bodies  which  radiate  heat  well,  but  conduct  it 
badly;  once  supposed  to  fall  like  rain  and  still 
so  spoken  of ;  as,  a  heavy  dew  fell." 

3.  The  Century :  "  The  aqueous  vapor  which 
is  deposited  from  the  atmosphere  by  condensa- 
tion, especially  during  the  night,  in  the  form  of 
small   drops   on   the  surface   of  bodies.     The 
formation  of   dew  is   explained  by  the  loss  of 
heat  by  bodies  on  the  earth's  surface  through 
radiation  at  night,  by  which  means  they  and  the 
air  immediately  about  them  are  cooled  below  the 
dew-point  (which  see).     Dew  is  thus  deposited 
on   bodies  which   are   good  radiators  and  poor 
conductors  of  heat,  like   grass;   hence  also,  it 
appears  chiefly  on  calm  and  clear  nights  —  that 
is,  when  the  conditions  are  most  favorable  for 
radiation." 

The  obvious  defect  of  such  a  method  of 
presentation  is  that,  even  if  there  is  intellectual 
comprehension  of  the  cause  of  the  dew,  there 


222  INTEREST  AND  EDUCATION 

is,  however,  no  thinking  of  the  kind  spoken  of 
in  this  section ;  since  the  mind  formulates  no 
problem  for  solution,  makes  no  experiments, 
and  takes  no  steps  to  demonstrate  or  to  verify 
the  truth  of  the  proposition.  On  the  contrary, 
the  usual  result  is  that  the  pupil  tries  to  hold 
both  fact  and  exposition  by  force  of  memory. 
J  At  best,  nothing  more  than  clear  ideas  are 
obtained  by  such  a  method.  The  zest  that 
comes  from  thought  in  solving  self-set  or  self- 
accepted  problems  in  the  determination  of 
the  principles  underlying  cooling  by  radia- 
tion and  the  varying  capacity  of  the  atmos- 
phere to  hold  water-vapor  with  change  in 
temperatures  is  wholly  lost.  In  other  words, 
if  we  would  have  vividness,  interest,  and  the 
verve  that  accompanies  them,  we  must  let  the 
pupil  live  into  the  subject  by  that  species  of 
thought  which  involves  problem  and  solution. 
A  distinction  must  be  made  between  problem- 
setting  in  the  grades,  and  problem-setting  in 
the  high  school,  because  the  leading  purposes 
of  the  two  stages  differ.  In  elementary  science 
work  in  general,  our  chief  aim  is  not  so  much 
to  master  the  principles  underlying  a  wide 


INTEREST  AND  THINKING  223 

range  of  phenomena,  as  it  is  to  utilize  the 
scientific  knowledge  possessed  by  the  teacher 
in  the  explanation  of  particular  facts  and  events. 
This  problem  of  the  dew  is  a  section  of  a  much 
wider  body  of  knowledge  concerning  water  and 
its  forms.  In  the  high  school  we  should  want 
the  student  to  understand  this  fact,  and  to  use 
the  study  of  dew  as  one  illustration  of  the  laws 
that  govern  evaporation  and  condensation  of 
water,  and  conduction  and  radiation  of  heat. 
In  -other  words,  the  high  school  student  has 
the  mastery  of  principle,  law  as  such,  for  his 
problem,  whereas  the  elementary  pupil  has  for 
his  objective  point  the  explanation  of  given 
individual  facts.  In  the  latter  case,  the  teacher 
will  suggest  the  problem,  How  shall  we  find 
out  the  cause  of  dew?  He  will  have  the 
children  try  easy  and  striking  experiments  in 
evaporation  and  condensation,  and  will  make 
such  observations  as  are  practicable  concerning 
the  conduction  and  radiation  of  heat.  Cloth, 
cotton,  wool,  and  other  objects  may  be  put  out 
at  night,  and  the  relative  amount  of  dew 
noticed  in  the  morning.  The  efforts  of  the 
children  to  find  elementary  facts  concerning 


224  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

water  and  heat  will  serve  as  a  basis  for  their 
lively  apprehension  of  the  more  difficult  points 
that  the  teacher  must  explain.  So  far  as  they 
are  able,  and  so  far  as  the  circumstances  permit, 
the  children  will  thus  make  their  contribution 
to  the  thought  necessary  to  good  understanding 
of  the  matter  in  hand. 

With  the  high  school  student,  therefore,  law 
Is  the  end  to  be  reached,  while  the  specific 
facts  and  events  are  the  instruments  whereby 
he  is  able  to  solve  his  problems  by  his  own 
thought;  with  the  elementary  school  student, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  explanation  of  the  spe- 
cific fact  or  event  is  the  end  for  which  he  works, 
while  the  principles  of  nature  are  the  means 
whereby  the  teacher  helps  him  to  solve  his 
problem,  mostly  by  his  own  thinking.  This 
difference  between  the  purpose  of  nature  work 
in  the  grades  and  science  in  the  high  school  is 
a  constant.  It  holds  with  almost  equal  validity, 
not  only  in  all  nature  study,  but  also  in  the 
study  of  all  other  subjects. 

Problem-setting  for  and  by  the  pupils,  and 
self-incited  thought  in  reaching  the  solution, 
should  permeate  every  department  of  school 


INTEREST   AND   THINKING  225 

work.  It  is  fairly  common  already  in  number 
work,  for  this  naturally  assumes  the  form  of 
problem  and  solution.  Even  mechanical  and 
perfunctory  solution  is  better  than  none.  But 
where  the  pupil  can  feel  that  the  problem  is 
genuine  and  vital,  not  merely  conventional, 
he  works  at  it  with  the  zest  that  belongs  to 
all  things  that  are  thoroughly  alive. 

There  are  two  problems  that  constantly 
recur  in  oral  reading.  They  are :  1.  What  is 
the  thought?  2.  How  can  it  be  so  expressed 
as  to  convey  the  real  meaning  to  others?  A 
grammar  school  reading  class  can  be  trained 
to  lightning-like  rapidity  in  the  perception 
of  meaning  involved  in  a  given  rendering.  If 
the  meaning  suggested  by  the  reading  of  one 
pupil  differs  from  their  own  conception,  the 
other  pupils  are  eager  to  show,  by  reading,  just 
what  their  notion  of  the  text  is.  When 
opportunity  is  given  for  such  expression  of 
thought,  each  member  of  the  class  is  kept 
keenly  alert  to  detect  both  misconceptions 
and  new  insights  by  the  other  members. 
The  whole  class  might  agree  as  to  the  calling 
of  the  words  of  a  paragraph,  and  yet  no  two 


226  INTEREST   AND   EDUCATION 

agree  that  the  true  meaning  has  been  ex- 
pressed by  any  particular  reader.  The  writer 
listened,  not  long  since,  to  an  actor  as  he 
recited  the  lines  of  the  banished  king  in 
"As  You  Like  It."  The  man  had  maturity, 
good  form  and  face,  and  a  voice  full  of  deep, 
mellow  music;  but  alas!  he  was  unable  to 
convey  accurately  the  simple  ideas  of  that 
part.  A  well-drilled  child  of  twelve  could 
have  corrected  him  upon  almost  every  line. 
The  most  obvious  meanings  were  obscured  or 
entirely  perverted  by  this  actor,  who  had 
never  learned  how  to  distinguish  shades  of 
meaning  by  shades  of  emphasis  and  inflection. 
Problem-setting  and  problem-solving  of  the 
kinds  here  described  are  fascinating  alike  to 
teacher  and  pupil,  for  each  feels  that  he  is 
dealing  with  a  real  not  a  simulated  situation, 
and  the  mental  powers  are  all  healthfully 
excited.  When  children's  minds  are  thus 
active,  one  may  almost  see  and  feel  them 
grow. 


INDEX 


Abstractions,  141.     / 

/Esthetic  impulses ,<*26. 

Alchemy,  141. 

Allurement  vs.  effort,  22. 

Alternation  of  catechism  and 
other  methods,  201. 

Alternation  of  effort  and  apa- 
thy, 25. 

Analytical  questions,  180, 192. 

Answers,  fragmentary,  200. 

Answer,  the,  195. 

Antietam,  185. 

Artisans,  educational,  132. 

Artists,  educational,  133. 

Art  of  exposition,  the,  165. 

Art  of  questioning,  179. 

Art,  teaching  a  fine,  130. 

"As  You  Like  It,"  226. 

Atomic  theory  of  Democritus, 
213. 

Attention  and  interest,  209. 

Bain,  Alexander,  215. 
Beman  and  Smith,  146. 
Bhaskara,  173. 
Books  for  history,  207. 
'  Born '  teachers,  132. 
Bumpo,  Natty,  43. 
Burroughs,  John,  quoted,  167. 

Caribou,  curiosity  of,  122. 

Castes,  8. 

Catechism,    alternation    with 

other  methods,  201. 
Causes  of  routine  school  work, 


Century    Dictionary,    quoted, 

221. 

Chemistry,  144. 
Choice  of  method,  202. 
City  children,  94. 
Clear   ideas  and  vivid   ideas, 

44. 

Cocksureness,  139. 
Colorless  verbs,  190. 
Committee    of    Ten,    quoted, 

67. 

Concrete  ideas,  145. 
Concreteness    in    instruction, 

141. 
"Critique  of    Pure   Reason," 

137. 
Curiosity,  121. 

Dalton,  219. 
Dandelion,  187. 
Davidson,  14. 
Democritus,  213. 
Demonstration,  Euclidian,  173, 

175. 

Description  vs.  narration,  159. 
Desire  and  effort,  36. 
Desire  and  interest,  42. 
Desire  and  pleasure,  41. 
Desire,  nature  of,  37. 
Development  questions,  180, 192. 
Dewey,  Dr.  John,  quoted,  19, 

43. 

Dew-point,  220. 
Dew,  the  problem  of,  214. 
Diagogic  culture,  74. 
Dialogue  vs.  monologue,  152. 


228 


INDEX 


Dictation,  156. 
Divided  attention,  26,  26. 
Double  questions,  183. 
Drill,  101. 
Drudgery,  7. 
Drudgery  and  work,  32. 

Economic  sciences,  the,  62. 

Educational  artisans,  132. 

Educational  artists,  133. 

Educational  geniuses,  132. 

Education,  interest  and  sur- 
vival, 72;  universalizing  of, 
50. 

Effort  and  desire,  36. 

Effort  vs.  allurement,  22. 

Elective  schools,  53. 

Elective  studies,  interest  and, 
44. 

Elements  in  instruction,  per- 
sonal, 134. 

Engineers,  52. 

English,  development  of,  199. 

Envy,  definition  of,  169. 

Erasmus,  50. 

Error  in  effort  theory,  24. 

Eskimos,  3. 

European  plan  of  elective 
schools,  53. 

Examination  questions,  180. 

Exposition,  art  of,  165  ;  verbal, 
170;  of  thought,  171. 

Extension  of  knowledge,  50. 

Farm  training,  93. 

Feeling  of  worth,  interest  a, 

28. 

Figurative  expressions,  182. 
Fogginess  of  vision,  142. 
Foreign  words,  182. 
Fragmentary  answers,  200. 
Franco-Prussian  War,  183. 
Freedom  of  the  teacher,  131. 

Geniuses,  educational,  132. 


Genus  and  kind  in  questions, 

189. 

Greek  heroes,  150. 
Greek  ideas,  49. 
Ground    and    consequence    in 

questions,  188. 
Ground  of  classification,  189. 

Hall,  Dr.  G.  Stanley,  quoted, 

13,  111. 

Hamelin  Town,  136. 
"  Hayne,  Reply  to,"  138. 
Herschel,  Sir  John,  215. 
History,  books  for,  207. 
"Homer  in  Chios,"  150. 
Howard,  Charles  L.,  203. 
How  interest  arises,  1. 
Hubbard,  Mr.  Elbert,  quoted, 

91. 

Human  sciences,  62. 
Huxley,  quoted,  139. 

Ideas,  clear  and  vivid,  44. 
Immediate  vs.  mediate  interest, 

29. 

Impulse,  21. 
Impulses,  aesthetic,  126. 
Indian,  the  American,  11. 
Induction,     principle     of,     in 

study,  56. 

Indulgence,  selfish,  40. 
Industries,  differentiation  of, 

50. 

Inhibition  of  thinking,  212. 
Insight,  118. 
Instruction,  personal  elements 

in,  134. 
Intellectual-motor  side  of  mind, 

87. 

Interest  and  thinking,  205. 
Interest  and  voluntary  atten- 
tion, 209. 

Interest,  how  it  arises,  1. 
Interest,    subjective    side    of, 

28. 


INDEX 


229 


James,     Professor     William, 

quoted,  15,  16, 113. 
"  Jungle  Books,"  157. 

Kant,  137. 

Knowledge,  extension  of,  50. 

"  Laocoon,"  159. 
Leather-stocking  Tales,  43. 
Leslie,  Sir  John,  217. 
Lessing's  "  Laocoon,"  159. 
Lincoln,  185. 

Linguistic  instruction,  objec- 
tivity in,  148. 

Literature,  teaching  of,  167. 
Logical  form  of  questions,  187. 
Lombroso,  77. 

Long,  William  J.,  quoted,  122. 
Lord  Kelvin,  quoted,  48. 
Lotze,  142. 

Maine,  the,  183. 

Manual  training,  110. 

Mass  instruction,  131. 

Mediate  vs.  immediate  interest, 
29. 

Method  permeated  by  person- 
ality, 133. 

Methods  of  teaching,  117. 

Mill,  John  Stuart,  215. 

Modality  in  questions,  188. 

Modern  city  child,  the,  85. 

Monologue  vs.  dialogue,  152. 

Mosaic,  172. 

Motor  training,  85. 

Narration,  156. 
Natty  Bumpo,  43. 
Natural  sciences,  the,  62. 
Nature  of  desire,  37. 
Nature  work  vs.  science,  58, 
222. 

Objectivity  in  linguistic  in- 
struction, 148. 


Object  of  interest,  the,  20. 
Olympian  gods,  150. 
Olympic  games,  148. 
Oral  presentation,  150. 

"Paper  Foldings,  Row's  Geo- 
metric Exercises  hi,"  146. 

Paralytics,  academic  and  diges- 
tive, 75. 

Pathological  methods,  127. 

Patten,  Professor,  quoted,  5. 

Peary,  2. 

Pedantry,  193. 

Personal  elements  in  instruc- 
tion, 134. 

Personality  governed  by 
method,  133. 

Philistine,  The,  91. 

Play  and  work  for  city  chil- 
dren, 103. 

Play  in  the  city,  96. 

Pleasure  and  desire,  41. 

Presentation,  oral,  150. 

Primitive  men,  1. 

Problem  of  the  dew,  214. 

Problem  setting  and  problem 
solving,  206. 

Pythagoras,  173. 

Questioning,  art  of,  179. 

Questions,  classes  of,  180. 

Questions  determining  method, 
128. 

Questions,  specific  characteris- 
tics of,  182. 

Reading  and  problem  setting, 

225. 
Relation  of  interest  to  methods. 

of  teaching,  116. 
Relation  of  the  teacher  to  his: 

methods,  127. 
"  Reply  to  Hayne,"  138. 
Review  questions,  180. 
Ribot,  error  of,  209. 


230 


INDEX 


"Road  to  hell,  the,"  141. 
Routine  school  work,  causes  of, 

99. 
"Row's  Geometric  Exercises  in 

Paper  Folding,"  146. 
Rules  for  questioning,  194. 

Salmon,  Professor  L.  M.,  183. 
Saturation,  219. 
"  School  tone,"  135,  19§^ 
Science  and  thinking^  212.'") 
Sciences,  human,  natural,  and 

economic,  62. 
Sciences,  the  human,  62. 
;3cience  vs.  nature  work,  58, 

223. 

Self-expression,  12. 
Selfish  indulgence,  40. 
Sensory -intellectual    side    of 

mind,  87. 

Seton-Thompson,  157. 
Smith,  Beman  and,  146. 

Snowbound,"  147. 
Snyder,  Denton  J.,  quoted,  150. 
Special  characteristics  of  ques- 
tions, 182. 

Speech  of  the  teacher,  135. 
Speer  method,  146. 
Socrates,  154. 
Sophists,  153. 
Standard   Dictionary,   quoted, 

221. 

St.  Louis,  203. 
Studies,  elective,  44. 
Sturm,  John,  60. 
Subjective  side  of  interest,  28. 
Survival,    education,    interest 

and,  72. 

Tales,  Leather-stocking,  34. 
Teaching  a  fine  art,  130. 


Teaching,  relation  of  interest 
and  methods  of,  116. 

Teaching  vs.  telling,  153. 

Tediousness,  131. 

Telling  vs.  teaching,  153. 

Tempo,  137. 

Tension,  139. 

Thinking,  interest  and,  205. 

Thurston,  Professor,  quoted, 
69. 

"  Tom  Brown's  School," 
quoted,  104. 

Tone,  137. 

Town,  Hamelin,  136. 

Translation,  149. 

Valjean,  Jean,  117. 
Verbs,  weak,  190. 
Vision,  fogginess  of,  142. 
Vivid  ideas    and  clear  ideas, 

44. 
Voice,  the,  135, 197. 

Ward,  Lester  F.,  quoted,  81. 

Weak  verbs,  190. 

Webster's  Dictionary,  quoted, 
220. 

"Webster's  Reply  to  Hayne," 
138. 

Wells,  William  Charles,  215. 

Whittier,  quoted,  147. 

Why,  the  question,  125. 

Wilderness,  battle  of,  187. 

Winkelmann,  162. 

Women  teachers,  99. 

Work  and  drudgery,  32. 

Work  and  play  for  city  chil- 
dren, 103. 

World  conundrums,  182. 

Worth,  interest  a  feeling  of, 
28. 


HERBART'S 

OUTLINES  OF  EDUCATIONAL 
DOCTRINE 

TRANSLATED  BY 

ALEXIS  F.   LANQE,   Ph.D. 

Associate  Professor  of  English  and  Scandinavian  Philology  and  Dean 
of  the  Faculty  of  the  College  of  Letters,  University  of  California 

ANNOTATED  BY 

CHARLES  DE  GARMO,  Ph.D. 

Professor  of  the  Science  and  Art  of  Education,  Cornell  University 

Cloth  i2mo  $1.25  net 

"  It  is  a  thoroughly  twentieth  century  American  book.  It  is  a  better  pre- 
sentation of  the  best  that  Herbart  has  thought,  and  at  the  same  time  a  fuller 
adaptation  of  that  thought  to  American  needs  of  the  present  day  than  any 
.  ;her  book  I  know  of."  _  Profcssor  HERMAN  T.  LUKBNS, 

Southwestern  State  Normal  School,  California,  Pa. 

"  Such  a  translation,  adapted  by  discriminating  annotation  to  lead  Ameri- 
can teachers  to  see  the  application  of  these  principles  to  American  schools, 
is  very  desirable.  The  bibliographical  references  scattered  throughout,  and 
the  skilful  annotation  add  very  greatly  to  the  value  of  the  work." 

—  Professor  J.  W.  JENKS, 

Cornell  University,  Ithaca,  N.  Y. 

"  It  is  one  more  strong  book  for  teachers." 

—  President  FRANCIS  W.  PARKER, 

Chicago  Institute,  111. 

"  The  translation  is  faithful,  lucid,  and  thoroughly  English,  and  the 
thoughtful  annotations  by  Dr.  De  Garmo,  bringing  Herbart's  doctrine 
thoroughly  up  to  our  time,  will  secure  for  this  work  permanent  value  to 
American  teachers."  _w  N  HAILMAN> 

Superintendent,  Dayton,  Ohio. 

"  It  is  a  valuable  contribution  to  Herbartian  Pedagogy.  Especially  is 
this  the  case  since  the  editors  have  '  modernized '  Herbart's  views,  and 
pointed  out  places  where  his  theory  does  not  apply  to  modern  social  condi- 

tions<"  —  Professor  C.  E.  RUGH, 

State  Normal  School,  Clarion,  Pa. 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

CHICAGO          BOSTON          SAN  FRANCISCO          ATLANTA 


f  151933 


REC'D  LD 

APR  1 8 1958 

11MAV59HJ 


8 


APR  27  1959 


NOV  29  1946 


19 


«* 


SEP 


4 


1  4  1958 


YC  03552 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


